Wolverine: Slowburn Poison
by Linkstar
Summary: My attempt at crime noir. Logan is a private investigator hired by the mysterious professor Charles Xavier while he attempts to put together the shattered peices of his life. Chapter Nineteen now uploaded! Please RR!
1. Chapter One

**ONE**

Rain spattered on my face when I came to, my face in the gutter, as usual. 

Neon light bled onto the pavement in ripples of colour as I tried to right myself, only realising too late that a boot was firmly pressed between my shoulder blades, forcing me back down. I must've grunted, because the boot dug deeper. I probably should've pretended to still be out cold, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I realised my options were limited and the only thing for me to do was to enquire as to how I wound up in this mess in the first place.

"Look, buddy, what's going on here?" I croaked, and realised that my jaw hurt like hell in the process. My unseen friend said something in a low voice, and then I felt the pressure between my shoulder blades lessen. He was talking to someone else. Whoever _h_e was.

Suddenly, the boot lifted off me and I was wrenched into a semi standing position by a shaved gorilla, who I recognised as Ricky, a bouncer for the Volcano cocktail bar. He held me firmly by my coat, so my toes didn't even skid on the pavement. He turned me to look at the source of the other voice.

"Mr. Logan, I do apologise for this."

Ricky released his grip on me and I fell to the ground unceremoniously. The man, Ricky's boss, stood near the side entrance of the club looking at me across the narrow little alley. He held an umbrella with one hand and smoked a cigarette with the other. His crisp grey suit was unspoilt by the rain, unlike my own, which was soaked with rain, sweat and most likely blood. He exhaled smoke slowly and shrugged. "Ricky can be so clumsy." He smirked, and then his blue eyes flickered with anger. I could still feel Ricky behind me.

"You put on quite a drunken display in there, Mr. Logan. I had to order Ricky to escort you out."

Having no other way to explain my current state, I had to believe that version of events. Something told me he was lying though. The man stepped forward and his blonde hair shone with each pulse of the red neon light above. "I hope I didn't embarrass you, Warren," I said with little interest if he believed me or not.

"When a man can't handle his alcohol, I feel embarrassed for him." He laughed softly and flicked his cigarette to the ground. "And while I hold no hard feelings for this little episode, I think it might be best for all concerned that you stay out of my club in future. You simply make my patrons nervous."

He turned on his heels and walked back into the open door behind him, leaving Ricky and me in the alley. Alone. Ricky glowered at me. "You heard Mr. Worthington, Logan. Don't come 'round here if you don't want trouble." His deep voice boomed from his chest and I looked up into those squinty eyes that shone with sincerity. "And I don't wanna keep beatin' you up like this, OK?"

I patted him on the arm and gave him a half smile. "OK, Ricky. I'll try to be good in future." I began to walk for the open mouth of the alley and Ricky ambled after me, his breath coming out in grunts. "So tell me the truth, Ricky. Did I even make it past the front door this time?"

Ricky looked down at me and frowned, rain dripping off his sloping brow with each step. He shook his head. "Mr. Worthington had three guys on you before you even made it that far. They have pictures of you up at the front desk, but the new girl was on tonight, and she didn't recognise you. Let you waltz right in," He said with amazement and a twisted smile.

"Hope Warren doesn't fire the poor girl," I said flatly, hands in soggy pockets, as we approached my Buick parked across the street. Ricky shrugged. There was a new girl at the front desk every week. 

"Goes through people fast doesn't he?"

I dug my keys out of my pocket and looked up at Ricky, not really expecting a response, but pleasantly surprised when I got one. "You do OK to leave him alone, Logan," He said slowly, like he was thinking hard about each word. "Let the past go. Move on. Otherwise...."

I squared my shoulders and tried to look my full five foot eight. "Thanks for the advice Ricky. Drop by sometime. We'll have a drink or something."

He nodded. "Sure thing Logan."

As I drove away I watched the giant figure recede into the distance, lumbering towards the neon glow of the niteclub.

The journey to what passes for my home was short and riddled with questions. I knew I had a reason to go to the club, but for the life of me I couldn't remember. Whatever Worthington did to me, he did it but good. I don't know if a violent blow to the head or an even more deadly blow to my pride caused my loss of memory. I put it down to a bit of both as I pulled up and crossed the street to what my landlord calls "an apartment complex", but in fact it is a converted textile factory that his brother owned before it went belly up and had the guts ripped out of it. Now, with a thin new coat of paint, and each of its three floors portioned up with plywood to give the illusion of privacy and space, it meets the city's requirements as an urban dwelling. 

The front door swung open without much complaining and I slouched into the lobby, leaving puddles of water behind me, heading for the mouldy wooden stairway that led up to my room. My foot hadn't planted itself on the first step when Joe Greenson rounded the corner and caught my by the elbow. I looked down at his leathery hand on my wet jacket, and pulled away slightly when he smiled at me. "Tough night, Logan?"

I grunted. "You could say that Joe."

He chomped on a cigar thoughtfully, took a few puffs, and crossed his arms over his chest. Even in this weather, the man wore matching corduroy shorts and safari shirt. "So how's business?"

When it became clear that I wasn't getting away from my landlord without a conversation, I leaned against the banister and made my face look a mask of patience and interest. "Slow at the moment. My last case was three weeks ago. You know how it is."

He nodded, but his green little eyes said no I don't know how it is. "What was that? The peeping tom?"

"No that was a few months back. The last case I had was for Folberg."

"Oh yeah. Had you tailing his wife, right?"

"Uh huh. Good ol' Judge Folberg," I muttered. I looked up the stairway, trying to give Joe the hint that I needed to go now. He ignored it.

"Logan, you know I hate bringing this up, but your rent is late. Again." He said it rapidly without meeting my eyes. 

" I'm finalizing my accounts. Some yahoos owe me money."

He nodded. His hand still clutched my elbow. "Even if it's not the full amount, Logan. At least by Friday."

Joe always tried to put the screws in when he's hard up for cash. I moved away, trudging up the stairs. "Sure thing, Joe," I called over my shoulder. I wondered if he could hear me over the creaky staircase.

My room was not a welcome sight as I flipped the light switch. Too many days and nights away from the place and not enough time to clean the place were the contributing factors. Clothes were strung up from the ceiling at odd intervals, and the smell of damp in the place assaulted me like a punch in the head. I didn't even wanna contemplate the state of the tiny sink in the corner. I could see the top of a tower of dishes poking out of it.

Promising myself that this would be fixed in the morning, I shrugged out of my wet, heavy clothes and pulled out my trundle bed. Outside the rain drummed on rooftops like the gunfire. 

Ricky had certainly done his job. The pain between my shoulder blades raged as I stretched out on the thin mattress over rusty iron I like to call my bed. I rolled onto my side and stared at the lights of the city that peaked over the precariously stacked dishes in my sink. I thought back on the vents of the night, replayed the incidents in a number of variations, wondered if there was any possible way I could have looked like a bigger fool. Truth be told, it was not my finest hour. Worthington had his goons on me before I could really do anything. Ricky was just doing his job, and I respect that. 

I knew I'd be paying for the whiskey I had at the bar, if the kicks to my head didn't do me in first. I had some business to sort out in the morning. I hadn't had a decent case in a while and the bills were piling up. If I didn't do something about my woeful financial state-and soon-I'd be out in the gutter with my ass hanging out of my pants. A few characters owed me for assignments I'd pulled a while back, but before I could collect, I had to find the bastards first. Even if they didn't have the money, I couldn't very well beat em up, although no one would blame me. I needed someone like Ricky to be my accounts payable clerk. 

I fell asleep, with an image of flame red hair and the scent of lilacs and honey in my nostrils, and I thought about dancing with her head on my shoulder, wearing an expensive seersucker suit and shiny new shoes, seeing my reflection in the dance floor below us.


	2. Chapter Two

**TWO**

The sun rose sluggishly over the city skyline, burning away the veil of smog that clung to the very tops of the buildings that glinted in the orange light. I was up and looking out of my tiny window, sipping lukewarm coffee over the sink. My mouth felt like a cactus garden and the stubble on my chin scraped the ceramic mug like steel wool. My head was about ready to implode. I washed down three aspirin with whatever coffee dregs I had left, and scrounged for a suit that didn't look too crumpled. It was debt collection day and I couldn't go around town looking like a bum. Maybe some of them would take pity on me with the shabby attire and shell out what they owe. 

The episode with Worthington was playing in my mind on loop. I played it from every angle. Worthington never usually dealt with any of his more troublesome customers himself, least of all me. But his interests were not in club security but old scores to settle. I was stupid enough to step on his patch, drunken pride counteracting common sense. Worthington dealt with all his enemies the same way. All of them disappear without a trace. I knew that was what he intended for me last night, but he had too many witnesses, and after all, he didn't become the richest jerk in town by being stupid.

I shrugged myself into the least wrinkled sports jacket I could find, after giving it a preliminary sniff. It didn't smell sour, but I doused it in aftershave anyway. I glanced into my tiny shaving mirror above the sink and decided shaving with a hangover was probably not a good idea. Hell, if I cut my throat shaving, Worthington would get the blame. It wouldn't be so bad. 

My gun was sitting on the bedside table where I'd dumped it last night before heading to Volcano. I stuck it into the waistband of my trousers and covered it with my jacket, hoping I wouldn't have cause to use it today. It hadn't been fired in a long time. The handle was taped up after I had to pistol whip some guy, but otherwise I wasn't sure if she even worked anymore. It felt good, comfortable, in my hands. I didn't see the need to go blasting my way into a situation if I could use my head and my mouth at the same time. Most men would call me a coward, but I haven't stayed alive this long by being stupid. Like Worthington, I know where the limit lies.

A soft click in the hallway outside followed by shuffled footsteps. Mrs. O'Halloran was about to go to the markets. I checked my watch. 8:00 a.m exactly. The old bird never misses a beat. Her life had become clockwork since her husband Vincent died. She worshipped the shrine of routine, and she pitied those who didn't. I crossed the room and opened my door to see her mid-shuffle in front of my apartment. She looked up and regarded me with sharp, grey eyes. Her face was a mass of wrinkles and her iron colored hair was perfectly set into a beehive bun. She stooped a little when she walked, but she never mentioned being in pain. 

"Good morning mister Logan," She said. She had resumed shuffling towards the stairs and I locked my door and pocketed my keys. 

"Mrs. O'halloran. You're looking lovely." I took her arm, which had become somewhat of a custom lately. She needed help down the stairs but would never ask, and I was always around about the same time. 

"You're a liar and a cad," she replied, looking stiffly in front of her. "You don't look so bad yourself. Where are you off to?"

"Just catching up on some accounting."

"Someone needs to mend the hem of those trousers, mister Logan. When was the last time you had a woman's touch?" her words were meant in a different context, but it left me trying to recall the last time I had been with a woman. Not since Madripoor. Could it have been two years already? Jeez, time flies when you're getting the shit kicked outta you. "Bring them to my apartment tonight, and I will mend them for you." 

"I'm sorry?"

"Your trousers, Logan. And they call me deaf."

"Look, I appreciate the thought Mrs. O'Halloran, but I really…"

She smacked my arm as we reached the lobby. "Nonsense. You will have them at my place tonight. You bachelors are all the same. You'll never snag yourself a wife looking like you do. I will not take no for an answer, do you hear me?"

"I like being a bachelor." I mumbled. She frowned at me like I was slow witted.

"No one _likes _being a bachelor. Except for my dear brother Benjamin. Never married. Mother called him a confirmed bachelor, but I never understood what that meant."

I smiled despite myself. This woman was a gem. She knew quite well what she was saying, she was just getting a point across with her usual subtlety. Mrs. O'Halloran liked to play the doddering old fool but she was sharp as a tack and she knew I had her number. I kissed her on the cheek as she walked through the big double doors, out onto the pavement and into the early morning sunshine. I watched after her, hands in my pockets, as she disappeared around the nearest corner. I was smiling and shaking my head as I headed out after her and towards my Buick parked in front of the building. I fished my keys from my pocket and looked up just in time to register the shadow that was suddenly cast over me. My first thought was that Ricky had returned, but this guy was broader and taller, plus he wasn't a lard ass. 

"Mr. Logan?"

The big boy had a crew cut and spoke in an accent. He wore an expensive suit that was tailored to fit his near seven-foot frame. His eyebrows were knit, but not with concern. He was waiting for a response. I nodded, and tried to look as if I had been expecting him to be blocking the path to my car at 8:10 on a Monday morning. "Yeah, that's me."

"Am I to understand that you are the Mister Logan who is a private investigator?" The big boy was Russian, no doubt about that. I was likely to be lynched in the street of a good upstanding citizen ran to tell good ol' Joe McCarthy. Since the big Russian was clearly going nowhere, I decided to play along. "You assume correctly, _tovarish_. What can I do you for?" 

The big man squared his shoulders. Something cracked. He had a baby face, with a strong jaw line and serious blue eyes. If he was surprised I picked him as a red, he didn't show it. "I represent a man who would very much like to discuss business with you. He would like to meet at a time of your convenience, as he understands you are a busy man. You will be well rewarded for your time, even if you decide you do not want to work for my employer."

"You're offering me a job, red? From who? This got anything to do with the mafia?"

The bid man shifted now and leaned in over me. He was frowning. "No. This is not anything to do with mafia, or any lawbreakers for that matter. I have given you the message, so now it is up to you."

I stood my ground. I was likely to get a punch in the mouth for my cockiness. "Alright, you've delivered your message. Would you mind getting out of the way so I can get into my car?"

The big Russian shot his hand out and I flinched. He grinned and held out his hand. On his palm, dwarfed by his big hand, was a business card. I took the card off him but didn't bother to read it, instead slipping it into my jacket pocket before unlocking my car door. Whoever he worked for wanted to make an impression on me. The big Russian was obviously sent to make me take notice, or scare me. Either way it worked.

I intended to find out who this mystery prospective client was, but I had other matters to attend to. My financial state was such that if I didn't recover the amounts owing I would be eating my shoes by the end of the week. I would probably be able to work around Joe Greenson for a few days but he wasn't going to wait forever. He was desperate. Joe was normally easy going about back rent but lately he must've gotten himself into some sorta mess. 

To say I was distracted when I opened the gates and headed up the path to Lenny Peel's house is an understatement. I almost tripped up the steps as I approached to knock on the door. Very professional mister Logan. I straightened my tie and took off my hat, as a shadow appeared behind the frosted pane of glass in the wood paneled door. The door opened on a short, round woman with wide eyes. She wore a powder blue dress and a kid had scurried behind her and peered at me from underneath her dress. "Mrs.. Peel?"

She nodded, wiping her hands on her dress. "Yes."

"My name is Logan. I was wondering if I might be able to speak with your husband?"

"Lenny isn't around at the moment, I'm afraid. I can let him know you called around."

"That would be very kind, ma'am." I hesitated for a few moments. I knew she was going to slam the door in my face. She didn't like the look of me in my crinkled suit. Might have mistaken me for a door-to-door salesman. "I did some work for your husband a while back now. I was investigating the threats to his business?"

Her eyes glimmered with recognition. "Oh. You're the private investigator!"

"Yes ma'am."

"Was there something wrong, mister…Logan…was it?"

"That's right. Well, I was hoping to settle up his account. It's been in arrears for a few months now. I'm just calling in to see if we can at least work something out so I can balance my books."

She gripped the edge of the door. Her nails were digging into the lacquered wood. "Did he not pay you, sir?"

I ducked my head. "Not as yet. Now normally I wouldn't be standing on your doorstep, but I…"

She shook her head. "Not at all. Please, come inside." She stood aside and let me pass. As I stepped over the threshold I felt as if I knew the place. The hallway, with its polished floorboards and ornamental throw rugs, was tasteful and inviting. I'd never been to Lenny's place before. I never knew he lived like this. 

Mrs. Peel took my hat and promptly placed it on a hook on the wall. She offered to take my jacket and I declined. She sighed and started smoothing her dress, then looked at me with weariness. "Mr. Logan, I think it might be a good idea if we had a word in the kitchen." She knelt down and patted the little boy's head. "Go and play in the back yard, Benjamin. Don't get into mischief." The boy scurried off and she stood up with some difficulty. I offered my hand but she waved it away. After a few moments, she composed herself and asked that I follow her. 

The rest of the house was tastefully appointed. There was nothing out of place and there was nothing expensive here, but it was still a home one could be proud of. It was clear that Mrs. Peel was not fond of overstatement. When I was seated she started making coffee. When I told her it would not be necessary she waved me away again. In moments she had a steaming mug set down in front me, and another for her. She finally sat down and I could see in her pinched features that she was suffering. It wasn't the kind of suffering one could complain about but it was the kind that can stay with a person for life. 

"Lenny mentioned you a few times, during those horrible few months," She said softly. "I told him we should invite you over for dinner, to thank you for all your hard work, but Lenny said you were not the sort of man to accept a dinner invitation in the suburbs. Lenny had such strange notions about people sometimes."

I sipped my coffee. It had become painfully obvious that Lenny was not at home. "He's right though. I don't normally accept dinner invites in the suburbs, because I usually don't get them in the first place."

She smiled and nodded, then put her cup down purposefully and looked back up to me. "Lenny isn't here, Mr. Logan," she said slowly. "He…he ran off one night and I haven't seen him since. I knew he was having an affair but I didn't think it was serious…" Her voice wavered and she took a shuddering breath. "I heard they went to Europe. Being the coward he is he hasn't sent me a letter or a postcard, but he does send me a check each month without fail." She pushed her chair back, it's legs scraping over the polished floorboards, and she walked into the kitchen. She pulled a cookie jar out of an overhead cupboard and returned to her seat, clutching it awkwardly. "He left behind all kinds of debts, as you can imagine. But the checks I get each month allow me to manage fine on my own. That and I marched into my lawyer's office and had all his businesses signed over to me."

She reached into the cookie jar and produced a wad of cash. Which she did not count, then placed it in my hand. I shook my head. "But this is not your debt to pay, Mrs. Peel."

She snapped the lid back on the cookie jar decisively. "But it is a debt incurred by the business my husband once ran. He didn't employ you personally, instead preferring to hide behind his business name. So Peel's Coffee House has incurred this debt. Which means I am obliged to pay you for your fine work, as managing director."

I closed my fist around the wad of stiff bills and shoved it into my pocket, smiling broadly at her. "Thank you, ma'am," I replied. "You're some woman, you know that?"

"Lenny didn't think so." She smiled. Something about that smile wiped the years away and I saw a woman who had gotten what she wanted. I finished my coffee and stood up, not wanting to outstay my welcome. She showed me to the door and I shrugged into my coat again. The kid had come in from the yard and he was staring at me. I patted him on the head. "Keep your nose clean, squirt. Look after that mother of yours."

She held the door open and I retrieved my hat. On the threshold, she grabbed my arm. "Mr. Logan, I've always wanted to know…is Logan your first or last name?"

"Pick one," I replied with a wink, put my hat on my head and stepped out into the sunshine.


	3. Chapter Three

**THREE**

The Day wore on. There was no such luck as I had with Mrs. Peel with my account keeping. One defaulter had topped himself, I discovered, and another had went and joined the army. Some people will do anything to avoid paying their bills. It seemed as though the only thing I had to look forward to was having my trousers mended by Mrs. O'Halloran. It might be the high point of her day too. I had enough money to eat and pay Joe with just enough shrapnel left over to fill the ol' Buick's tank. Well, half fill it. I hadn't held a steady job in a while, and the business of investigating always seemed to cover the bills. People were always going to cheat. People were always going to be intimidated. Mostly good people, who for whatever reason can't or wont go to the police, and have nowhere else left to turn. Most of my clients came to me after hearing of my services through good word of mouth. Some of them, Like Judge Folberg, came to me because they didn't want their lives plastered all over the front page of _the Times._ My financial status notwithstanding, I did enjoy my job. 

The point is I have no concept of what any other job would be like. I've been working as a P.I for about seven years, on and off, and I can't recall any vocation before it. That is to say I remember doing things that I know was part of something bigger than myself, but for the life of me, I couldn't place it. I think I may have been a cop. I think. My instincts and my love for this kind of work would put me in that sort of field. I've lived in this city for the past seven years, and I feel like it's my home now. I can't imagine myself anywhere but here. It is an assault on the senses and a mindless sprawl of architecture and pollution and beauty. I wonder if it was by accident or design that I had wound up lying in a gutter in this fair city. Whether I was dumped there or whether I just fell and conked my head, I don't know. Seven years later I call myself Logan and I move forward because that's all I can do.

I eased the Buick close to the curb outside Harry's Bar N Grill, A neat little dive that had a mean steak sandwich and a cold glass of beer for two bucks. The tables were greasy, the windows were dirty and so were the other patrons, but Harry's was my sorta place. I fit in and no one looked at my ugly mug twice. 

I pushed open the cracked and dusty double doors and entered the bar. A haze of blue smoke hit me and I inhaled deeply. Music played dully in the background, weaving it's way through drunken conversations and the occasional chinking of glasses. Harry's Bar N Grill was a relic from prohibition days. You could still feel the oppressive, almost secretive air as you approach the bar. The pitted and scarred wood topped bar looked as if it could tell a thousand stories on its on. I took a menu as I slid onto a barstool and the barmaid came over, pencil and pad at the ready. She was no more than a girl, really. Long brown curls with an almost albino white stripe running from the middle of her forehead all the way back. She spoke in a southern drawl and she was always obsessively wearing a pair of small black velvet gloves. She leaned against the bar, chewing gum, and grinned at me. "Ah'll just not bother with this ol' thing, shall ah?" She said, holding up the order pad. "Ah know what you're gonna order even before you open your mouth, Sugah."

"Oh?" I replied with an arched eyebrow. "And what makes you think that, Marie?"

"You always order the same thing. Steak burger, barbeque sauce. Side of fries and a Bud. That's it."

"That a fact? I always order that exact thing?"

"You haven't varied from it while I've been working here, Logan. A man needs variety. We don't want him getting' all stale and repetitive now."

I winked at her. "Naw, I ain't getting repetitive, Marie. The rest of the food on this menu is crap."

She giggled and started pulling my beer. "You watch your mouth or I'll tell Harry." She slid the beer over to me and grinned. 

I sipped my beer and watched her disappear into the kitchen. Marie was no more than 19 years old, but her spunk and her big brassy attitude made her appear older. She had this knowing grin that saw through even the toughest customer. No one knew much about her except her first name. Something told me she was working in this dingy bar because of the anonymity it afforded. She didn't have the demeanor of someone who was being hunted. I would have picked that up right away. She was running away from something though, but I thought the better of it to ask her. Everyone runs from something.

After a few moments, she returned with my burger and fries. She slapped them down on the bar and popped her bubble gum. I took a huge chunk out of the burger and grinned at her with a mouthful of food.

As I chewed, a man pulled out the stool next to me, and ordered a bud. I chased the burger down with a mouthful of beer. The man was dark, his skin like coal. He wore a hat and he had a graying beard. He slapped his money down on the bar and I could feel the other patrons watching him warily. He smiled at me and I held my beer up in salutation. He settled onto his stool and propped his elbows up on the bar. He lit a cigar with a sliver lighter engraved with the word _Wraith_. "Logan. I've been looking everywhere for you, man."

This stopped me mid bite. I dropped the sandwich back onto its paper plate and looked at him with a frown. "You have, huh."

He nodded and exhaled a long stream of smoke from his nostrils. "Yep. I thought I'd lost your scent. Look, we gotta talk. You've been out of the loop a long time and you're in a whole world of trouble."

"Is that a fact?" I sat back and sipped my beer, watching his face.

"You have no concept of how deeply in trouble you are. They have been looking for you for almost eight years now. They have been half way round the world looking for you."

"I don't know anything about this," I said slowly. "I don't know you, more to the point."

"Oh Lordy, Logan," He said, his face a mask of concern. "You really can't remember?"

"Nope."

"Doesn't that scare you, man?"

I thought about that. Maybe I was scared that I would find out what I had lost. Maybe. But I had been going forward all this time with no recollection of where I had been and I was living a decent enough life. I had no idea whether I was being hunted or followed because I wasn't really looking. "Who are you?" I demanded.

"My name is Wraith. Johnny Wraith. We used to know each other. Look, if I can find you by myself then think of how easy it will be for them. You know things that they will kill you for. They want you back."

"Huh. Interesting. Who are _they, _Johnny Wraith?"

"Our old employers. They have sleepers everywhere, Logan. They didn't mind losing the others so much, but they need you. It took one botched up operation and the whole thing became unraveled. Now they have regrouped and they're recovering whatever they can."

"Why do they want me?" Christ, I was starting to buy into this crap. 

"The rest of us were expendable, it seems. You were the success story."

"Who are they?"

Johnnie Wraith grinned and took another puff of his cigar. "Look, I'm not gonna say anymore than what I've just told you. You may think I'm some crazy man, but I cannot impress upon you how serious this is. The less you know about them, the better. I just wanted to make you aware. Alert. You just need to exercise that caution and start looking at things a bit closer."

"You're right," I replied. "I do think you're a crazy man."

Johnnie Wraith laughed out loud. "Nice to see some things never change then, eh?" He drained his beer and stubbed his cigar out, then slapped me on the back as he headed for the door. "Look, if something is about to go down, I'll find you. Just keep your eyes open, OK?"

He left the building, and the air of tension emanating from the other customers slowly faded. Marie came over and watched him exit. "He made a few people nervous here." She said under her breath. 

"People here are drunken idiots." I slapped my money down on the bar and she collected it with her velvet-gloved hands. 

"I couldn't agree more, Logan." She said with a smile.


	4. Chapter Four

****

FOUR

Johnny Wraith's words were not the strangest things that have ever been uttered to me, but they were certainly the strangest for that day. Wraith seemed genuinely concerned about some sort of conspiracy involving shadowy, all-powerful entities chasing down little old me. Now, normally I would look over my shoulder as a general rule when I knew I was stepping on some toes. Might have a few thugs try and rough me up, and it had happened in the past. But the way Wraith was speaking, he thought these guys were seriously nasty pieces of work. Wraith looked as if he had been in a few scraps in the past, and he had come out the worst for wear. If Wraith was so scared, why was he so sketchy about the details? Either he was making it up as he went along or he was covering his own ass. Either way, I wasn't much impressed at him interrupting my lunch.

I trudged up the death trap like stairs with heavy feet, the dust rising up from their bare floorboards and assaulting my nostrils. The apartment building was quiet save for the shouts of a few kids on a floor above me. I tried creeping past Mrs. O'Halloran's apartment but it was no good. She was onto me.

"Mr. Logan, I was the wife of a military man and three grown boys," She said from behind me. I could feel her eyes boring into me. "Did you really think you had a chance in hell of sneaking past me?"

"No ma'am."

"In here right now."

I meekly stepped over the threshold and she ushered me in, then quickly shut the door. I was relieved that she didn't snap the locks home. "Now, take those pants off and give them to me," She commanded. I was too stunned to argue. I unsnapped my belt and took them off. She took them immediately and didn't bat an eyelid at me standing there in my shorts. "Sit down, Logan. This shouldn't take long."

She sat down in a huge velveteen chair that puffed out dust when she moved, and began to mend them. She had on a pair of spectacles, and she was staring that the hem of the things with fixed interest. She worked with nimble fingers and astonishing speed. "How did the account keeping go today?" She asked, breaking a silence that had dragged on too long.

"Fine. Better than I thought it would at least."

She picked up another spindle of thread. How I knew it was called a spindle is beyond me. She broke off the thread with her teeth and continued sewing. "So scuffed, these damnable trousers. You single men are all the same. So, has Joe been to see you about the back rent?"

"He saw me about it." I sat there, in my shorts, trying to act as if I wasn't embarrassed. She obviously didn't care. "He seemed pretty desperate. Has he been to see you?" Joe Greenson struck me as just the type of man who would show up and demand money from an old lady just so he could pay for his gambling debts. She looked up at me shrewdly.

"He has been to see me but he didn't see one red cent of that money. I actually informed him that I had paid up my rent three years in advance, as I always do, out of my husband's estate. He wasn't too happy about it but he had to go away eventually." She giggled. It came out like a little girl's laugh, which surprised me. "Logan, you know you can always borrow the money from me. I'm not a poor woman, not rich either, but I can help..."

I held up my hand and grinned at her. "I really can't ask you to do that. Even the thought of me asking is offensive. I'll get by. I always do."

She harrumphed and continued with her work. She didn't speak again until she was finished. She held the trousers up for my inspection and threw them back at me. "Buy some new trousers, Logan. Joe Greenson can wait."

I spent the rest of the night in my apartment, staring up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks spider webbing their way out of dry plaster corners. I thought about what Johnnie Wraith had told me, and how he seemed so compelled to say it. About Joe Greenson and his desperation and about Mrs. Peel, who seemed so satisfied with her subtle revenge. I thought of Marie with her tiny velveteen hands, scooping up the cash and looking playfully at me. Then all these thought dissolved as I remembered Warren Worthington I I I ordering me out of his club, watching as Ricky pounded into me like a gorilla with a new plaything. I wanted so much to hurt him, to make him suffer for what he'd done. To the outside world, he was just dealing with a quarrelsome drunken bum, which was his right as proprietor of the Volcano Club.

I turned onto my side and punched the pillow underneath my head, so it kept a lumpy shape. I couldn't think about the reason I was kicked out. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was because of the girl, but I couldn't admit it even to myself. Worthington had her and I needed to let it go. There was only so much that my ego could take.

I sat up and the bed protested with a series of alarmed squeaks. I rubbed my face with my hands and decided to take a walk. I wasn't going to get much sleep because my brain just wouldn't just up. I snatched my jacket from the pile of clothes draped over a nearby chair, and shook it for good measure. I noticed a little white card fluttering to the ground as I thrust an arm into the jacket and stooped down to pick it up. It was the card the big Russian had given me. It read:

XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS

A Division of the Xavier Institute

An address appeared below. I turned the card over. There was something written in a fine, spidery hand.

__

Mr. Logan—

Perhaps we can help each other.

I would very much like to meet with you

regarding a matter of grave importance.

--Sincerely

C. F Xavier,

Headmaster

I held the card in front of me for a few moments, wondering why the big Russian didn't just drag me into a waiting car and speed off to meet his master if the matter was of grave importance. I turned the card over in my fingers before sliding it back into my pocket. Xavier was clearly a man who did not like to force an issue. Still, I didn't do business with "phantoms", those rich guys who let their hired goons act as a go between so their hands don't get dirty. And since Xavier seemed to need my services, I could afford to make him sweat before I paid him a visit. I may have been flat broke, but I have my principles.

The night had settled on the city like a snug velvet blanket, and the sounds that roared during the day were now set to a constant purr. The city was sleeping, and good people didn't bother venturing out. The air was always heavy with menace where the shadows grow longer, and everyone feels it in this city as night approaches. People quicken their steps to get home before nightfall. Predators are everywhere. They prey on those stupid enough to venture out, they prey on each other and they are territorial. They think they own the night. They think that it's an original idea.

But my destination was the New York Public Library. Most of the self styled predators I had the misfortune to encounter wouldn't know how to get there with a map. It was a place of refuge for me when I was up to my armpits in a case, and I needed to get a new perspective on things. Very few of my cases required any sort of complex research. I would often just come to the library to think, and in doing so I managed to establish a few friendships. One of the longest serving employees at the library was Edmund Lock, an archivist who knew the library back to front, up and down and all over. He was well past his retirement years but the library board could not bring themselves to force him to retire, or to fire him. He was part of the institution and he was a survivor.

He was a quick wit and possessed a freakish ability to remember facts and figures, dates and times, and serial numbers. I suspect he remembers everything he read. Every word, every phrase, every verse. He was always reading and as a consequence he never left the library. I knew, even at this hour, that he would be there.

Sure enough, Edmund was there to unlock the double doors when I pressed the Night Buzzer. He was short and thin, and was always clad obsessively in a black overcoat that looked like one a monk or a man of the cloth might wear. I had never seen him out of it, even in the summer months. As he let me in, Edmund appraised my shabby attire.

"Do you even own an iron, Logan?" He asked as he shuffled ahead of me. His croaky voice barely rang off the marble walls. His white shock of hair stuck up at wild angles as he turned and approached a small elevator behind the night guard's booth.

"Do you even own any other clothes than what's on your back, Edmund?"

He snorted a laugh and this sent him into a coughing spasm. "Touché. Now, to what do I owe the unexpected honor of your visit?"

We entered the elevator and he pressed the button for the basement level. "I need to find out some back history on a man who has approached me for a job."

He nodded. "He must be well known if you're coming to me to check up on him."

"Well, as far as I know he's not a public figure, but I've heard of him before. His name is Charles Xavier."

The name registered with Edmund straight away. I could see it in his eyes. The elevator had reached the Basement level and Edmund shuffled forward and opened the door. "I haven't heard that name in years. You say he approached you about a job?"

"Not personally. He sent a Russian thug to make an offer on his behalf."

We were walking to his desk in the archive, which was a maze-like sprawl of shelves, displays and vaults. Edmund was responsible for the cataloguing of most of it. His desk sat in the back, covered with papers, folders and fat volumes. He sat down in his ragged leather chair, dwarfed by its size, and he laced his fingers over his belly. "Charles Xavier is a name I am quite familiar with. In fact, it might surprise you to learn we knew each other as young men in Cairo." He sat back and closed his eyes for half a second. "But that was a world away, literally. I was working as a research assistant for the British archaeologists who were uncovering those glorious relics from ancient times. I met some truly great men, including Howard Carter himself."

When he opened his eyes and saw the blank expression on my face, his tone shifted to one of annoyance.

"I won't stoop to asking you if you know who Howard Carter is," He said rapidly, his brow furrowed. "I came into contact with Xavier through some friends in the world of academia. He was involved in a groundbreaking anthropological study at that time, and I must say some of his findings were remarkable. His essays are widely published and hotly debated even to this day."

"So how does a man like Charles Xavier come to be the headmaster at a private school?"

Edmund took off his wire rimmed glasses and polished them with a linen handkerchief. "He ran into a lot of opposition from sectors within the scientific community. His theories expanded upon what Darwin had put forward, but in a way that some people were not comfortable with. He theorized that mankind was evolving much more rapidly than anyone could have imagined, and he cited evidence he uncovered in Egypt, Syria and even right here in the United States. Most of the examples he had given were too fantastic for died in the wool scientists to believe. A boy in Massachusetts who grew tufts of blue fur all over his body, for example. Or a man who can swim under the water for prolonged periods of time, just like a fish. All of it documented, but what were people to make of it? This was fodder for the circus sideshows and not for the pages of serious scientific periodicals!"

He stood up and gestured for me to follow him. We started down a long, narrow space with shelves reaching to the ceiling on both sides. He stopped and plucked a huge folder from one of the shelves and handed it to me.

"That is a collection of periodicals that Xavier published in. Not complete, but with the library's limited resources, I have not been able to track down the ones that have been published in Britain." He sighed. "Xavier stopped publishing his findings after the controversies they seemed to develop threatened to overshadow the work. He is independently wealthy, you see, so he must have just decided to teach others in a more constructive way." He shrugged and shuffled back to his desk. "He's an extraordinary man and a great thinker. Very perceptive and canny."

I opened the volume in my lap and began to read. I heard Edmund stand again and looked up. "You're going to be here for a while," He said. "I may as well make some coffee." He was grateful for the company but too in love with the idea of being a cranky old man.

It was sunrise before I left those dusty old archives. Edmund was dozing when I finished reading. His chin had dropped to his chest and his glasses half slipping off his nose.

Weak sunlight was already burning away the curtain of clouds hanging over the city, and I was unprepared for it. Sunlight has a way of shocking you when you've been exposed to nothing but enclosed spaces and darkness. I began to realize why Edmund preferred the relative comfort of his archives: It was an unchanging environment that he could use to avoid the rest of the world. The harsher elements were kept out and only what he allowed in would flourish. Unfortunately this left Edmund with very limited people skills, but he was a shrewd judge of character nonetheless. Having immersed myself in the details of the life of Charles Xavier, I saw the instant comparisons between Edmund and the elusive head of Xavier's school for gifted youngsters. Both were gifted men, both highly intelligent. In later years, it would seem, both men removed themselves from the rest of the world. Xavier's reasons for slipping into obscurity were practical and professional, but Edmunds was because of a complete inability to understand the human condition anymore.

I had decided to meet Xavier to at least find out what it was he wanted with me. I had no desire to be dealing with that Russian thug of his if he wanted me to take on this case. I slipped the business card out of my breast pocket and strode over to the nearest phone booth. The morning was coming to life slowly, and few people were out on the street. Soon the city would be awake and these streets would be teeming with people. I dialed the number and waited for someone to pick up. Surprisingly someone promptly did.

"Xavier's school for gifted youngsters."

"Yeah, hi, this is Mr. Logan. I hope I could speak to Professor Xavier."

"Ah, Mister Logan! I was beginning to think you were not going to call."

"I wasn't going to. I didn't like the way you delivered your message."

There was a brief silence. There was amusement in his voice when he responded. "My apologies."

"Look, professor, I'd like to arrange a meeting to talk about your…problem."

"Of course. Would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to come to the school? I'm afraid I will not be able to leave during a school day."

"Fair enough. This afternoon?"

"I'd like that."

"5 o'clock."

"That would be perfect. See you then, Mr. Logan."

I put the receiver back in its cradle and stepped out of the booth. It was still too early for much pedestrian traffic. In fact I was the only one on the street as far as I could tell. I began to walk back to my apartment building with my hands in my pockets. My mind was allocating a spot for the new information I had gained on Xavier, and I was so distracted I didn't notice that someone was tailing me. I should have paid attention to the hairs on the back of my neck bristling, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they say.

I had rounded a corner and entered a narrow one way street when I heard a movement behind me. I turned around to seek out its source, when the narrow tip of a silver blade came down inches in front of my face. I realized that the swing was intentionally sloppy. Had I have reacted slower I would have lost my face.

There was no one behind me. I saw their body when I turned, but they moved real fast and now they were gone again. My body was tensed, my senses primed by the first attack. I was cursing myself for not being more vigilant. The second attack happened from the side, and this time I was ready. I felt the tip of the blade nick my left side and as it did, I grabbed the hand that held the weapon, and used my entire body weight to full effect, swinging the assailant into the wall behind us. I heard a woman yelp and a metal sword clattered to the ground. This time I didn't allow her the time to outfox me. I grabbed the sword and placed my boot on her throat, so even the slightest move would choke her. She looked up at me with violet eyes which were the same colour as her hair. "Let me up," She growled, her voice spiked with an accent. "Or I swear to God, Logan…"

"How do you know my name?" I demanded. I pressed the boot harder and she gagged. Her hands were clutching the sole and I could tell letting her up now would be the equivalent of releasing a wounded animal from a bear trap. They were most likely going to attack the first thing they saw. She knew I was willing to let her suffer for just a little longer and annoyance flared in her eyes.

"What's the purpose of this?" I asked her. "Your style is too sophisticated for a robbery. You're skilled. You wanted to kill me."

She grunted. "That's what they paid me for. Nothing personal, you understand."

"Why shouldn't I just hand you over to the police and continue on my merry way?"

"Because, you don't like cops for one, Logan. And secondly, you know it won't do any good. I failed so they will send someone after me now."

"Who?"

She laughed but it came out as a series of splutters. There seemed to be no genuine malice in her eyes. She had simply been hired to kill me, and she failed. If I wasn't so pissed I would have laughed too. "They didn't give me names. I very rarely know their names. All I know is, a man approached me and provided me with a photo of you and twenty grand. That was my motivation. I didn't need to know anything else."

I pulled my boot off her throat and grabbed her roughly by the arm. I held the sword level with her eyes so she knew what would happen if she so much as breathed the wrong way. She got the picture and allowed herself to be guided into the shadows of the alley. I could smell her. She wore no perfume but her hair emitted the distinct smell of jasmine. "I was approached by a man who told me someone wanted me captured alive, that I was an important man. Now someone sends you to kill me. What should I believe?"

She looked away and her long hair fell over her face. "I know nothing more than what I have told you. Do what you will to me."

"I ain't gonna kill you. I'm guessing the men who hired you will try to track you down anyway."

"What makes you think I won't redouble my efforts?" She held my gaze intently. She was not afraid of the sword but she was cautious of it.

"Because," I replied. "I've seen your face and I've managed to live. I'm going to keep this little pig sticker right here as a souvenir. You should have enough honour to give up and leave me alone."

She nodded. "Very well, Logan. You've shown me more mercy than I deserve."

I held her a little while longer, and bore down on her. "Tell me your name."

She lifted her chin defiantly. It seemed for a second that she was not going to tell me, but then she sighed. "Kwannon."

"What sort of a name is that?"

"It's the only one you're going to get. Are you going to let me go now?"

I smiled and released her. "I'm going to walk away and the minute I turn my back you are going to be gone. I suggest you start running because your employers paid you up front and I'm guessing you're not in the habit of giving refunds."

She nodded and I slowly turned away, hands in my pockets. I heard the whispers of her feet on the pavement, and when I looked over my shoulder, sure enough she was gone.


	5. Chapter Five

**FIVE**

I arrived at Xavier's school, which was a huge fenced off compound in Westchester. Its ornate wrought iron gates greeted me at the end of Graymalkin lane. The Buick's bald tires crunched up the gravel and the gates swung open as if they sensed the car approaching. Beyond the gates was a long paved driveway that led right to the front door of the school. I parked the car and stepped out. The lawns were perfectly manicured, and it seemed as though my Buick was sullying the place just by its very presence. In fact, I felt as if I had the same effect. I knocked on the huge carved doors and waited. A sense that this place was more than what it appeared overwhelmed me. It seemed that the grand façade, the lawns, the lake, were all a cover for something else. The door opened to reveal the same huge Russian that approached me with Xavier's offer. I looked up and almost took a step back. A slight smile played upon his lips as he made a gesture towards the foyer. "Please come in, Mr. Logan. The professor is expecting you."

I stepped through the doors and into a huge, tastefully decorated foyer. The floors were honey coloured and polished. Huge rugs of burgundy and gold ran towards two flights of stairs. There was a balcony above, made of the same honey coloured wood. Our footsteps echoed as we walked down a hallway. The big Russian offered to take my coat and I declined. The Russian knocked on the door at the end of the hall. Affixed to it was a brass plate that read HEADMASTER.

A voice came from within. "Come in, please."

The Russian opened the door and I entered. Xavier was sitting behind his huge oak desk, his fingers laced on an ink blotter in front of him. He was bald as a cue ball, and his scalp shone in the light. He was smiling up at me. "Ah, Mr. Logan. Please take a seat. I'm Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met Peter. He's one of my former students."

The big Russian closed the door behind him. "Is he your houseboy as well?" I asked as I sat in a big armchair opposite Xavier. He smiled at me and inclined his head.

"I'm sorry if he offended you, Mr. Logan. Peter takes care of errands for me when I'm indisposed at the school. I should have realised that it might not have pleased you to be approached in such a way."

I waved it away. Xavier smiled still, and leaned forward. "So, Professor, what can I do for you?"

"Straight to the point. Very well, Mr. Logan. I discovered recently that Some of my files were stolen. They contain very sensitive information that I would not like to be in the wrong hands.

I took out a notepad and scribbled _stolen files _down. I looked up and tapped my pencil on the edge of the notepad. "And you want me to recover these files?"

Xavier drew a breath. "Well, that's part of it." He leaned forward some more and looked me in the eyes. Something flashed there for a moment, and then he looked away. "I keep copies of all my confidential files, of course. I feel that certain enemies of my school will use these documents to track down our prospective students."

"And why would they do that?"

His eyes flicked up to mine again. "To kill them." He sat back and it seemed as though he was exhausted. "I believe these people want to shut me up, and stop me spreading my teachings to the greater world."

I nodded. "Right. They oppose your theories of evolution. To me it looks like most people who oppose your theories are from the religious right, and from more traditional, died in the wool scientific backgrounds. Most prefer to argue in the public arena. What makes you think it is an opponent of your school?"

"You bring up some very valid points, Mr. Logan." He waved a long finger and levelled his gaze on me. "And I see you've done your homework."

I shifted in my seat. "I don't like to take on cases where I'm in the dark. I read your articles, in particular "_The X-Factor: The next phase in Human Evolution_. It was a groundbreaking study."

"Thankyou. So you also know the violent fervour with which my opponents argued my theories."

I had to think about that. His choice of words was interesting. _Violent fervour_. I paused a little too long and Xavier's eyebrows formed a question mark. "Well, I saw some very extreme views being put across," I replied. "Although to a layman like me, it all seemed a bit too academic."

He nodded. "I'm afraid that is what this argument will ever be. If I cannot present them with something that they could see, or touch, then my work will always belong to quackery rather than genuine science."

"So this list of documents that was stolen," I said. "It contains information regarding prospective students which you consider sensitive."

"Well, information that could lead to a very real threat."

"Can you tell me what the files contain?"

He sighed. "Background files mostly. Some stretching back to before I was born. My father was a scientist and when he died most of his files were left to me. His research papers and personal correspondence was kept with some of the more outdated background files on my current and prospective students."

"So your father's files were not of any value?"

Xavier smiled as though I had made some subtle intellectual joke. "Not of any great scientific value anymore, I'm afraid. But they hold a certain sentimental value."

I wrote _Dead father__'__s paperwork _and underlined it. "Who would have access to your files, other than yourself?"

He frowned. "My research assistant, one or two of my senior pupils…They are held in a secure area with all my other sensitive files."

"Are they kept at the school here?"

He shook his head and reached for a folder on the coffee table near him. "They were kept at a secure storage facility in the city. The manager of the facility called to inform me of the theft two days ago." He handed me the folder and I opened it. All it contained was some invoices and an inventory of all items stored.

"May I keep this?" I asked.

"Absolutely. I have copies."

The big Russian came back in and Xavier smiled up at him. "Ah, Peter." He looked across at me. "Mister Logan, I'm afraid I have another appointment now. I'll have your car brought round."

Joe Greenson's office was a small cube painted in faded green with balding brown carpet. It could be said that the man and the office were the same: Shabby, balding and unpleasant to look at. I wouldn't have been there at all if I could have avoided it. Joe ushered me in and offered me a seat. I sat and looked around. The walls were crowded with old photographs, certificates and press clippings, all of them in some way related to his father, the late Bobby Greenson, a retired boxer who made a fortune in property and investments after he left the ring. Greenson senior became quite a legend in his time, his wealth at one time rivalling that of Warren Worthington III's business empire. But after the stock market crash, the great Bobby Greenson lost most of it save for a few strategic investments, which he left to his son. If his son had the same business acumen he may have made something of what was left, but he squandered it on booze and whores. Joe looked across at me with red rimmed eyes. When he spoke, his breath reeked of cheap wine. "So you managed to rustle up what you owe, huh Logan?"

I nodded and pulled off some bills from the wad that Mrs. Peel had pressed into my palm earlier. When I looked up, I saw Joe eyeing the cash like a salivating dog. "A month's rent." I threw the bills across his desk and he looked at them, then up at me. His hand was trembling, like he was fighting the urge to snatch the bills away before I changed my mind. I was impressed by his show of self restraint.

"Logan, I like having you here," He said quickly, biting his fleshy lip as he swiftly scooped up the bills and placed them in a drawer. "You're the best type of tenant. Quiet. You Don't bring any trouble into the place which is good." He coughed a little, and then loosened his tie. His collar was grubby with sweat. "But I couldn't help noticing your…conversation with that big Russian boy outside the other day."

"What about it, Joe?"

"Well, I was wondering whether you were in any kinda trouble now. In your line of work, you would make a lot of enemies."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't worry about that Joe."

He sighed through his nose and shrugged. "It's just that, you know what people are like, Logan. People get the wrong impressions."

"Can't have that."

"Just be careful, OK Logan? Don't be stepping on any toes."

What worried me about Joe Greenson's warning wasn't what he said; it was the fact that he had never showed any concern over my safety or showed more than a superficial interest in my work. I began to wonder whose toes I had stepped on for Joe to issue me a friendly bit of advice. Joe might have heard of my tangle with Warren Worthington and got scared. Joe Greenson would fall over himself to grab at even the hint of money dangling like a bit of live bait in front of him, and Worthington would know it. I tried to shake my head of conspiracy theories. After my altercation with Ricky, I couldn't reign in these thoughts. Worthington despised me, there's no doubt about it, but I couldn't think why he would spy on me. It Didn't seem like his style.

I decided to take a walk to the library. Too many things had happened over the past few days. I had suddenly become a popular man, judging by the attempt on my life the other night. Nothing says I love you like a hired assassin.

I sensed a chill in the air. My lungs burned as I walked the six blocks between my apartment building and the library. I needed the sanctuary that only the atmosphere of the library could provide. In an odd way, I craved Edmund's cranky old lectures. I rarely visited him during business hours, as I suspected he slept through most of the daylight. Those foolish enough to disturb his rest would most likely pay for it, as I fully expected to do. You can imagine my surprise when I descended into the bowels of the Archives Section and found Edmund upright and very much awake, debating with a young man about chess. When he noticed my arrival, he swiped the young man's arguments away with a decisive flick of his wrist and, hand on hips, welcomed me in his own fashion. "I thought the Library had a strict policy about letting drifters in."

"Good to see you Edmund. I see you don't retire to a crypt during the day."

He snorted-his version of a hearty laugh-and returned behind his desk. He made a steeple of his fingers under his chin and looked me right in the eye. "What do you want, Logan?"

I looked at my hands. "I…I want to find out some information."

"Surprise surprise. Last time it was Xavier. Who is it this time?"

After a long pause, I had to admit, "Warren Worthington III."

Edmund's bushy eyebrows rose over his thick spectacles, but he did not immediately respond. He leaned back in his chair and made a noise like he was about to clear his throat. "What do you want to know?" It was clear he had a mass of information to impart, but he was not going to make it easy.

"Look, I know the sketch. Old money. comes from a long line of great white industrialists. Built himself up on the shoulders of giants and fairly runs this town. Now I want to know all the stuff they don't print in the papers."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Why?"

I don't miss a beat. "Research."

He nods slowly. "You should know that none of the men named Warren Worthington take kindly to intrusions into their private lives. Having said that, for a supposedly private family, they certainly do have a lot of very public skeletons in their closets. Like most of the great dynasties."

I didn't want to interrupt his flow, but I felt compelled to speak. "Scandals, you mean?"

His chair squeaked alarmingly as he leaned forward. "You mean to say you don't have your fair share of secrets, Logan? Not all of us can merrily trip through life without any knowledge of whom or what we are." He fixed me with a look that pierced right through me. "Warren Worthington the first knew exactly what he was. And he made a killing, literally, from many wars he helped to instigate. He bent the ears of presidents and beat the media into believing his own publicity. While he ritualistically abused his wife and philandered with everything of woman born, he projected the image of a family man who happened to be a billionaire. He was the first Worthington to truly wield the power that incredible wealth had given him." Edmund laced fingers over his belly and smiled, his yellowing dentures displayed like a predator in the savannah. "Of course, he was protected at all levels because of his good relations with the White House. He had established a connection with the upper echelons of power, which would endure for generations to come. It was just assumed that while the conservatives were in power, the Worthington fortune would be assured. They were deeply involved in the manufacturing of weapons for the army, which, as you know, easily quadrupled their worth. By the time Warren Worthington the first had passed on, his Grandson, named after him, was old enough to take over the family fortune. The fortune was in safe hands with good old Warren the second. He was almost a perfect copy of his grandfather. He kept the Worthington name alive and respectable throughout his tenure as CEO of Worthington Enterprises. The contracts with the government were renewed, and the good relations with the media continued. During his reign, the obtained several national newspapers and expanded their textile and metal fabrication businesses. All of this under federal approval of course."

I knew Edmund was about to veer off course, so I steered him back to his narrative. "This skips us to Warren Worthington III"

Edmund's nose wrinkled. "Yes. He's all we have left of a great family. The unfortunate thing is, Warren the Third knew what he was. From a very young age he knew he was in a position of privilege. When he was old enough he wrested the empire from his uncle Maxwell, one of the only decent men to control the fortunes of that family. Warren was twenty one and had already garnered a long and impressive list of enemies. His uncle Maxwell was unhappy with the direction the business was taking and very publicly said so." Edmund shifted in his chair and coughed into his fist. "Of course, Max Worthington came to a sudden demise a few years ago. Hunting accident. It was revealed later that Max was attempting to organize a coup at the time of his death."

"The implication being that he was murdered by Warren?"

Edmund smiled thinly. "It was more a common belief than implication. Warren was afraid that the empire would slip through his fingers, that if his uncle could seize control again, he would lose access to the family fortune." Edmund looked away, as if his knowledge was spent, but to my surprise he continued. "The Worthington fortune is not as immense as it used to be, mostly thanks to Warren's mismanagement. His interest in running the company that made his millions waned after he turned twenty five, and now he lets others deal with it. These days he prefers to waste his life in the club he owns, which I have been told you are familiar with."

I looked up. My shock must have been plain, because his smile was wide. "I heard about your little altercation with Warren outside his club the other night." His smiled faded. "I thought you had more sense than that, Logan."

His gaze forced mine to the floor. I felt like a misbehaving student in front of a stern headmaster. "So did I."

"Logan, you need to understand. Worthington will not relinquish that which he owns. He could easily have you killed in the blink of an eye. Do you really think a _woman_ is worth all of this?"

My head shot up and the words came before I was able to stop. "I never said anything about…"

"But you didn't need to. When men wrestle like idiots in the rain, it's usually to do with a woman. "


	6. Chapter Six

**SIX**

I woke to a miserable downpour the next day. The apartment building was deathly quiet. Usually I would have heard a baby screaming or a couple shouting down the hall, but today, all I could hear were the depressing sounds of my own movement; the bedsprings creaking, my boots over the bare wooden floors, water boiling, the chink of crockery as I placed my coffee mug beside the mountain of soiled dishes. I looked out at the grey sheets of rain slithering their way down the window and resolved to make headway on the Xavier case. I should have jumped straight onto it once I walked out of that mansion, but the strange goings on leading up to my meeting with Charles Xavier had my interest. As if my life needed any more complications.

I flipped open my notebook, looked at the scribbles I had made during my talk with Xavier, and reached for the folder containing mainly receipts and correspondence from the facility that stored his files. I jotted down the address from a letterhead and shoved the notepad into my breast pocket as I made my way out the door.

I was met at the facility by a pleasantly bland little man in an old linen suit. He was a man prone to quick, nervous movements, just like a bird. He led me to his office which was situated on the floor above the storage space. The industrial sound filled the whole building, a jarring effect after this morning's eerie silence. "We were naturally very concerned when we learned of the theft," He said as he unlocked the office, his keys jangling with the slight tremor in his hand. "We do not usually have such incidents, as security is one of our main priorities. Break-ins are very rare."

"Do you know how the thieves broke in?" I asked.

He nodded. "Near as we can tell, they dug under out electric fence evaded the guard dogs and security patrolmen, then used a device to cut a hole in the side of Professor Xavier's storage unit. Our guards discovered the theft in the morning and alerted the authorities."

I scribbled down a few details. "Not everything was taken?"

He shook his head. "No. When we inventoried the contents after the theft, we discovered only a few items missing, which was puzzling, to say the least."

I had a good idea where this was heading. "How are Professor Xavier's files stored? Any particular order…Like chronologically, by content…?"

He smiled. I was cruising right into his area of expertise, and he was puffing up like a peacock. "Professor Xavier had very specific requirements regarding the storage of his documents," He replied. "There were reports about individual students, by name and years attended at the school, then financial documents by year only, and some older files that he asked be stored by date, month, year, marked by peculiar titles. Research papers, mostly."

"Have you read any of the files?"

He drew back, offended. "Of course not! We value the privacy of our clients and guard it zealously. We require out clients to provide us with information that better helps us store their goods in the most efficient manner. Professor Xavier volunteered this information so he could readily access that material later." He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and shook his head as if he were lamenting my stupidity, which he probably was. I knew my unintended offence would cost me information.

My next question had to count. "Did Professor Xavier give you a list of people with permission to access the material?"

He sat back and looked at me shrewdly. For a moment I thought he was going to refuse to answer, but to my relief, he did. "I have a copy of the list somewhere." He waved to his filing cabinets behind me.

"Do you have a ledger or something…Something that lists all the people who have accessed the material since it had been stored here?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have that on hand. The police department still has it."

"May I have a copy of the list of permissions?"

He nodded. "Although I don't know that it will give you any new leads," He stood and took off his glasses. "The police have already questioned everybody on the list."

"All the same, I'd like to get a copy."

He nodded his head. "Wait here." His courteousness had disappeared and he was now getting quite annoyed by my presence. He returned a few moments later with a single sheet of paper, handing it to me on the way to his chair behind the desk. He sat heavily and sighed. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I glanced at the list, folded it and slipped it into my pocket with a smile. "No, thank you."

I slid onto my usual barstool at Harry's, pulled one of the laminated menus from the rack to the left of my elbow, like I always do, and in a few minutes Marie is standing before me, pad and pencil in hand, like always. My life had become so unpredictable that coming to Harry's was the only constant, the one thing I could count on. Marie sighed and looked at me with a semi smile. "Cheeseburger, Side of fries, bud." She shakes her head and plucks the menu from me, sliding my beer towards me already. I picked it up and took a deep gulp. "How did you guess?" I said, looking into my beer, then smiling up at her.

"You look tired Logan," She said after placing the order with the cook. "Everything OK?"

I nod, because I do not want the worries of my life anywhere near her. She looked as if she had suffered enough in her short life. "Just had a hard few days."

"Maybe you should take a few days off, relax a bit," She leaned against the bar and put her hand on her hip. The bar was quiet today and she had little else to do but talk to me. "Go to one of those resorts where you forget all your cares."

I hold up my beer. "All I need is a cold glass of beer and a good meal and I forget my cares anyway."

She started wiping the bar absently, to give the illusion she was working. "Have you traveled much, Sugah? You look like a man who travels a lot."

"Marie! Cheeseburger!" The cook barked from behind her. Marie collected my meal and placed it in front of me. She waits while I take a chunk out of the burger, a frown cutting across my forehead. "You know, I can't remember the last time I…" something stopped me. Images flood into my mind's eye: A jungle, a palace, an underground tunnel. The desert. A cabin in the snow. "Probably Madripoor," I reply slowly. "My last holiday that I remember."

"I hear they don't like Americans none too much down there."

"They don't."

"Not much of a holiday, Logan."

The funny thing is, I can't remember a time when I was happier. I can recall vague scenes in my past, grey faces misting over my vision from time to time. They look like ghosts. I see them in my dreams, and sometimes I get the feeling I've been a bad man, that these demons are haunting me for a reason, and nothing I can do now can repair that. I just nod at Marie and keep chewing my burger. "Can't say I disagree with you, Marie."

She laughed softly, and when I looked up from the Honey colored wooden bar, she was gone. Bad music filtered through the smoke filled room, the owner, the famous Harry, barking orders over the top. Only a few patrons propped up the bar, far away from me, looking as if they are having about as much fun. I stabbed at my fried with a fork and shoveled them into my mouth. I stared back at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, intently trying to ignore how bad I looked, when Marie plonked the phone down in front of my, holding the receiver out with a look I couldn't decipher. "For you," She said.

I stared at the phone for w few minutes, wondering if she was kidding. She held the receiver out still and I could tell she was as puzzled as I was. I dropped my fork with a clatter and tentatively held the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

I instantly recognized the voice on the other end. "Logan, hope I didn't interrupt your lunch." Johnnie Wraith said.

My response came out calmer than I felt. "Not at all. What do you want?"

"I need to arrange a meeting. I need to talk to you."

I gripped the receiver. Part of me wanted to hang up in his ear and ignore his delusional fantasies. Another part of me somehow knew that this man was on the level. I let my pause linger a bit too long, my gaze flicking up to Marie's worried face. "OK. Where?"

"Do you know where St Mark's cemetery is?" I told him I did. "I'll meet you there at 1am. Make sure nobody tails you this time, Logan. Things are getting outta hand."

I hear a click as he hangs up, and stare at the phone for a moment, then replace it in its cradle. Marie looks down at me with inquisitive eyes. "It was your friend from the other day, wasn't it?" She asked. "Ah remember his voice." I couldn't be sure but I think she shuddered.

"Yeah, it was him," I replied softly.

She didn't ask what the call was about, and I wasn't going to tell her. She scooped up the phone wordlessly and walked away, leaving me with half a plate of food I couldn't stomach and a head full of questions that screamed for answers.


	7. Chapter Seven

**SEVEN**

Johnnie Wraith arrived on time at St Mark's, trudging up a white gravel lane that lead to the stone bench I sat on. There was little light except for the moon hidden behind the clouds and the light from a faraway street lamp. He was dressed for the cold, in an expensive looking duffle coat and a bright red scarf. I wore my threadbare trench coat because it made me feel as if I was a real private eye. It offered no protection from the rain or the chill. He stood before me, then cast a few glances either side and sat beside me on the cold stone. "They found you, Logan. Goddamn it, they actually managed to track you down." His breath came out in white cloud puffs. When he looked at me I could see fear in his eyes. "Which means they ain't far behind me either. Look, You need to watch your back, seriously. I think what happened the other day was a test."

"What are you talking about?"

"They sent that little Geisha girl for you. They wanted to see if there was any chance you still had it on you."

I shook my head, looking every bit the stunned mullet, and then it dawned on me that he was talking about the purple haired assassin. "Had what in me?"

He sighed. "She wasn't sent to kill you Logan, although that's what they told her. The real reason she was sent was to see if you would kill her." He reached into his coat and produced a series of black and white photos. In the half light I see the face of my would-be assassin. She had cuts and bruises all over her face, her body a twisted wreckage of bloody cuts. The photos were taken at several angles in a small alleyway. I handed them back to Wraith. "I didn't do this."

He shoved them back into his coat and sighed. "Somebody did, Logan." He let that thought hang for a little while, and then sighed. "What happened?"

"She attacked me from behind, wielding a samurai sword. She was sloppy, undisciplined. I was able to anticipate her and pinned her."

"And then what?"

"I let her go." I held his gaze for a few moments before continuing. "I told her to go and take the money she was given, and run as far and as fast as she could from whoever employed her."

"Looks like they caught up with her then, if what you say is true. Point is, no matter how this situation played out, she was going to end up in a body bag. They thought you would kill her. They were wrong. When you let her go, what were they gonna do? Let a paid assassin get away after seeing their faces? No way would they, or could they, let that happen."

"She was playing a dangerous game to begin with. More fool her for taking on an assignment where she didn't do her research."

His head jerked up. "You really believe that?"

I had to think long and hard about this. She was no professional that was for sure. But she was no wide eyes innocent either. She was a woman who was paid to do a job, and that was to kill me. Maybe my bias took over when I answered. I wasn't quite sure. "I dunno anymore, Wraith. Things have been weird for me lately."

"You and me both, man."

"Who killed her, do you think?"

He shrugged. "Some two-bit goon they hired. It ain't important. These people will go through hell and high water to get you back. Ever since I got the tip off that you were in the city, I have been working my ass off trying to find you before they did.  This is what happens when these guys get serious, Logan. People die."

I held up an impatient hand to stem the flow of words. "Whoa. Wait. You said you were tipped off about my whereabouts?"

He regarded me for a long few moments, rubbed a hand over his face and suddenly looked very, very old. His sigh lifted his shoulders and sent an explosion of mist from his mouth. "Yeah, and I wasted too much time trying to think like you, then I remembered you ain't you anymore."

"You knew me from…"

"We worked together, Logan, many moons ago. Did some screwed up things that we thought were right at the time. Maybe we knew what we were doing was wrong. Tried to make ourselves believe that we were just following orders."

"Why can't I remember?" I leant in close, trying to read his face. He just looked away again.

"I don't know that. Why can't I forget?"

We contemplated each other in silence. The look in his eyes said it all: He wasn't lying. I had developed a pretty good bullshit receptor, and I knew he was telling me the truth. This is why I didn't automatically dismiss him as a crackpot. Some part of my mind that held the memories he spoke of wanted him to be believed. I drew back a little, thrust my hands deep into my pockets. "There's a lot you're not telling me, Wraith." It was a bald statement of fact.

He nodded. "I can't give you everything, Logan. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I need to work out some stuff for myself as well." He paused. "I should show you why I brought you here." He stood up and nodded ahead of us. "Take a walk with me."

Feeling a ball of apprehension burn into my gut, I stood and followed him. The only sounds were our boots crunching the loose gravel as we walked. We weaved through the gravestones in a seemingly random way, until Wraith held up his hand. "Here." He pointed to the grave at his feet. I looked down and read the inscribed words:

BOB JONES

"Rest in peace Mastodon"

 The name meant nothing to me. I looked at Wraith with questioning eyes. "I made up the name," He said softly, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him. "Never got to find out who he really was. Knew his codename though, and I wish to God I could have done him more justice."

The realization of Wraith's words was sinking in slowly. "We worked with him too."

"Yeah."

I thought about this for a while. I had no idea what this was meant to signify, if this was Wraith's way of showing me what would happen if they found me. He seemed like a man who believed in big symbols. "And his codename was Mastodon." I let the words hang in the air, the rest of the sentence unspoken. I wanted to ask him _what was my codename? _But I thought the better of it. It would probably just lead to another brick wall anyway. "They got to him, too?"

Wraith shook his head. "Naw. He went and died of natural causes, although he was fit and healthy when I tracked him down some years back. Then one day he said he was feeling off colour, and then he went down real quick. His whole body just kinda went into meltdown. Middle aged man one minute, looking like he's ninety the next. He literally wasted away in front of my eyes, man." Wraith looked away, his jaw muscles bulging. When he spoke again, his voice was low and harsh. "It's like his body just gave up, Logan. I don't have all the answers. Not yet. But I am looking real hard."

We stood in silence for a few long moments. "Why are you showing me this?"

Wraith shrugged. "I think he died from whatever they did to him. I think they meant it to happen, like they planned for him to die in this way. Like I said, I don't have all the answers…"

"….But you are looking," I finished for him. "Look, Wraith, this has been educational, but I really should be getting along."

He nodded. "Fair enough. Be careful, OK?"

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Logan?" Xavier asked as he led me through the labyrinth of hallways inside his mansion.

"Coffee would be good."

"Excellent." We entered his office and he wheeled behind his desk, pressing a button on his intercom. "Hank? Could you please bring a pot of coffee? Thank you." He looked at me and laced his fingers together in fr4ont of me, face expectant. "So what do you have for me, Mr. Logan?"

"Nothing of great value, I'm afraid. I had a meeting with the people at the storage facility but it wasn't very fruitful."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I did instruct them to be as frank with you as they are with me," He replied. "But you did find something?"

"Other than method of entry, the speculated time of the robbery and a list of access permissions, not really. I do have some lines of inquiry that I have yet to chase down. At some point I would like to speak to the students on the access list."

"Of course."

"And I think it might be a good idea to find out what was in your father's files."

Something flickered in his dark eyes and he offered me a slight smile. "There's much I do not know about my father's research, Mr. Logan. The bulk of his work was done for the government, and I think, to this day, is still classified." 

"All the same. I think if we find what his files contained it will give us a clearer picture of who might want to steal them."

After an almost imperceptible pause, he nodded. "I think you might be right." The door opened behind me and a pot of coffee was placed on the desk in between us. "Ah, coffee." He leaned forward and began to pour.

I knew at some point I would have to talk to Edmund about Professor Xavier's father. If anyone would know what classified government documents might contain, it was him. I didn't have the investigative wherewithal or the contacts to go about it any other way. And despite his protestations, I knew old Edmund was growing fond of me.

I walked into a mist so fine it couldn't be called rain, hunching my shoulders against it. Living in a city where the sun hardly ever touched the ground, I was used to being enveloped by seemingly overwhelming darkness, and to the way its inhabitants seemed to absorb this darkness within them. I see it every year, the people's faces twisted with cruelty and pain and angst. I like to think I am not becoming like them, that every year I see cruelty and violence it doesn't harden my heart. The twin problems of Wraith's stories and Xavier's missing files fought in my mind with the thought of Warren Worthington, and the one thing I want most in the world that he now possesses.

I crossed the road and headed for the subway. If the weather was going to continue punishing me for not taking the Buick out today, I would have to just duck underground like a gopher and take the train home. I descended the steps to at a time, my head down, shaking the moisture out of my hair. I paid my fare and pushed my way through the turnstile, not for a moment noticing the woman who sat behind me. I smelled her perfume before and it registered. I turned around and I saw her sitting on the bench, wearing a long woolen coat pulled close to her body, her bare legs crossed. She was reading a newspaper in her lap, her fingers playing absently with the wavy red hair that tumbled over her face. I took a step forward, my mouth dry. As I slowly approached her, I thought of all the thing I should say, of all the things I wanted her to know. She was oblivious to my presence, engrossed on her reading. I sat down next to her and clasped my hands between my knees.

She looked up sharply, her green eyes sparkling. Her eyes settled on me and for a moment I thought she would speak, but she just smiled primly and went back to her paper. I leaned forward, licked my dry lips, and tried to do something Warren Worthington would never allow if he knew about it; I tried to talk to her.

"Jean," I said. The sound of her name startled her, and she looked sideways at me.

"I beg your pardon?" She demanded.

"Jean, I know what you said when we last saw each other, but I Have been trying for a long time to make things right," I replied. Her body was recoiling. I knew that I looked frightful, like a beggar or a tramp or something, but I wanted to clear the air, and I was not going to get another opportunity.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry about what happened in Madripoor. I'm sorry that things had to end the way it did." I took a breath and looked her in the eye. "But you have to believe me, Jean. I never wanted things to be like this. Running to Warren Worthington is the worst thing you could have done."

"What do you know about Warren and me?" She asked, her voice harsh. She wasn't afraid. She cocked an eyebrow at me and her perfect mouth was in a pout.

"I don't know much, but I know he'll go to any lengths to keep me from you."

"Is that a fact?" she smiled genuinely now, like she was remembering what it used to be like, but that didn't last. Her expression clouded over and I could see the confused anger there. "You're one of the Johns who caused a problem during the show a few weeks back. Warren was right to kick you out. Do you know how embarrassing that was?"

I shook my head. "I didn't mean to do that. I didn't mean to embarrass you, Jean…."

"Why do you keep calling me that!" She exploded, her composure gone. "My name is not Jean! It's Madelyne. If I remind you of a girl you met while you were posted God-Knows-Where, that is hardly my problem. You need to stop hanging around the club and causing trouble, because Warren will not brook that sort of behavior. Do you understand me?"

She folded her paper and stood up, her high heels clattering on the tiled floor. Her voice softened when she looked down at me, brushing her hair behind her ears. "I'm paid to make people believe I am the embodiment of their desires. That's what Warren wants in his girls. It's flattering that I've touched you in such a way, but you need to understand…I'm just playing a part on stage. I dance; sometimes they let me sing a little. I am not your long lost love. Please, for your own sake, you need to understand."

"I understand." She turned to leave, her coat flowing about her. I could hear the rumble of a train approach. "And for the record, my name is Logan."

The train was slowing at the platform. She turned back to me and smiled a little. "Nice to meet you in person, Mister Logan. I'm sorry, my train has arrived."

The doors of the train slid open and hundreds of wet and grumbling passengers spewed out. I looked down at my hands and tried to get my breath back, and when I looked up again, she had been swallowed by the crowd.


	8. Chapter Eight

**EIGHT**

I needed a drink in the worst way. The encounter with 'Madelyn' left me reeling, blood pumping hard in my temples and my skin was flushed. I could never tell when a beautiful woman was lying, and I wasn't sure if she was being completely on the level with me, but she had a look of conviction in her eyes that made me want to believe her, as hard as that may be to admit, since I loved a woman who looked exactly identical to her. Back in Madripoor she and I would walk arm in arm down the bustling streets, oblivious to the throng of harassed people clamoring this way and that. I knew the scent of her perfume, and every time I closed my eyes I could see the image of her face seared onto my eyelids. Life wasn't just good back then, it was sweet. The woman I met at the train station, the one who I saw singing onstage at Volcano night club a few months back, is her exact mirror image. Jean never told me she had a twin.

I shouldered my way into a bar and the fug of smoke and sweat hit me like a punch in the face. I found a seat by the bar and caught the attention of a passing barmaid. I ordered a beer and slumped myself over the bar until it arrived. She smiled at me as she laid the beer down in front of me. The way she smiled made me think of the secret smiles Jean used to have. I stifled my thoughts and smiled back, although it might have looked like a grimace to her, then took a sip of my beer.

I listened to the drunken arguments that my fellow boozers were involved in, and lost interest quickly. The noise around me was just what I needed to blot out the brutal onslaught of questions I was throwing at myself. It seemed right for me to be punishing myself this way; I was foolish enough to mistake a complete stranger for the woman who once loved me. I drank the beer in deep gulps, not stopping till I could see the world through the bottom of the glass. I slammed the empty down on the bar, motioning for the barmaid to bring another. It was one thing to want to drink to forget, but I didn't need it for that. I needed to put everything on hold.

Questions were forming in my mind unbidden. Why was Xavier's father's work from years ago important, and who was it important to? Why did Wraith show me that grave? If the red haired woman at the club wasn't Jean, why did Warren Worthington want to keep me away so badly? I hated the way that secrets seemed to have a way of enveloping everything around them, and it seemed like everyone had secrets around me. Possibly I was keeping secrets from myself, As Wraith intimated at the cemetery. He spoke like it was a good thing I couldn't remember.

I looked down at my empty glass, and motioned to the barmaid, who took my empty and started pulling another. She eyed me for a few moments, the smile never leaving her face. "Looks like you're looking to get obliterated," She said over the music.

I smiled weakly and nodded. "You could say that."

"Rough day?"

"You have no idea."

She nodded. "Trouble at home? The missus giving you grief? You got laid off?"

I shrugged. "You see a lot of this, huh."

"Sure do." She leaned against the bar and slung her towel over her shoulders. "All of these yahoos here have a story. I've heard all of 'em."

"Must be difficult."

She shook her head. "Honey, it takes all types to make the world spin. I love listening to this stuff. Better that reading a trashy romance novel." I laughed as she slid my third beer for the night towards me. I lifted the glass to my lips and saw she was looking at me in a way a woman hadn't done in years. "This one's on me, honey." She said with a wink.

"Thanks"

She hesitated, looked right and left, and then leaned across the bar. "I get off at ten."

My mind told me it didn't feel right, but my body told me it was about time as I climbed the stairs to the girl's apartment. Her name was Heather, she told me in the cab. She worked at the Cavern three nights a week and waited tables with what was left of her spare time. She displayed keen interest when I told her what I did, a cheeky smile spreading over her face, revealing impossibly straight, white teeth. She had honey colored hair and perfect white skin, and I tried not to notice the curves she cut in her short, tight skirt and almost see through white top. I found my hands on her thighs, on her stomach, and my mouth come down over hers as the taxi sped thought he streets. I caught the driver looking in his rear view mirror but I didn't care. When we arrived outside her apartment block, I paid the cabbie and took the steps two at a time to keep up with her. We reached her floor and she fumbled in her handbag for a set of keys. I wondered how many other yahoos had made the journey up the stairs to her apartment, and I found I did not want to know.

She finally opened the door and she stood on the threshold, beckoning to me. I made the few steps towards her and pushed her up against the doorjamb, kissing her with an urgency I didn't realize I had in me. She responded with the same forcefulness and pushed her body against mine. I breathed the perfume of her hair, kissed her neck, and lifted her off her feet as I kicked the door shut behind me.

The next morning we hurriedly said our goodbyes out front of her apartment building, and I watched her hail a cab and speed away, off to bus tables. She didn't give me her number and I didn't ask for it. She probably suspected I was just some married john drowning my problems, and I probably should have made it clearer that I wasn't. I took a deep breath, feeling the air invigorating my body in a way it hadn't in too long, and decided to walk back home since the rain had subsided. I'd been walking for a few minutes when a car drew up next to me and slowed to a crawl.

"Logan, care for a ride?" Came a familiar voice. The window rolled down and I squinted at the driver.

"Thanks, but I'd rather walk."

The car stopped and Detective David North got out, using his full height to great effect, stopping me in my tracks. "I think we had better talk, Logan."

"What about?"

He sighed deeply, then looked at me unhappily. "I need to question you at the station, Logan. Seems your name has come up in an investigation."

"North, I have no time for your cop jokes. I keep my nose clean, you don't stick yours in my business. That's how it's supposed to go."

"Look, it shouldn't take long to clear this up. I need to get a statement from you."

When it became clear he wasn't joking, I nodded. "OK. Let's get this over with."


	9. Chapter Nine

**NINE**

The last time I was inside the office of Detective David North was during an investigation I was conducting into an alleged suicide a few years back. As he led me through the badly designed station, up the terribly lit stairs and through the homicide unit, I noticed few things had changed. A man could grow old and die in these offices without ever knowing that one year turns into the next. The only thing that had changed was North's office itself. He was now occupying the office of Chief of police, a fact he explained on the way up the stairs. "It looks like our Chief is going to be the next police commissioner. He spends most of his time at City Hall these days, and he needed someone to run the station while he was off."

I sniffed. "So you going to fill his shoes when he does leave?"

He shrugged. "I'll think about it. I'm wearing the Chief's hat while still maintaining my caseload like the rest of the poor grunts."

"That's admirable."

"I don't want the guys still working in homicide to think I'm leaving all the work for them. Every detective is working his butt off in there, and if I stopped working my fair share, it would have to be lumped with them." He said reasonably.

We reached his office and he sat behind his huge old desk, looking totally out of place. I sat in one of the creaky old leather chairs which dotted the office, pulling it towards the front of his desk. He sat back and lit a cigarette before reaching for the file on top of a tower of loose sheets of paper, evidence bags, and folders, and opened it. He didn't say anything for a long time, his eyes scanning the pages as he smoked. He nodded to himself and scratched his chin as his eyes flicked up to mine. "We turned up a body a few nights back. Young woman stabbed and slashed repeatedly." He sighed and closed the file. "She was a prostitute who called herself Kwannon. Her real name was Elizabeth Braddock. A few of the girls who worked the same patch as her told us she rented a little one bedroom not far away from where you live. Now here's where it gets interesting, Logan. She had a file on you."

"What do you mean, she had a file on me?"

"It wasn't a huge file. Just vital stats, a few grainy pictures that look like they were taken with a telephoto lens, and some handwritten notes on your recent movements. As you can imagine, it took us all by surprise." He watched my face for a few moments, his brown eyes boring into me. "Do you have any idea why she might have done this?"

"North, I don't have a clue."

"There are other things," He said as if I had not replied. "The one thing that causes me concern is a positive print match taken from her body."

This time I let him see my shock. I shook my head and clamped my mouth shut, which I realized had been hanging open. "North, you know better than to play games with me. Why haven't you pulled me in long before this?"

He sat back and puffed his cigarette contemplatively. "We had no reason to suspect you right away."

"That's a weak excuse."

"Alright," he spread his hands and sighed. "The lead detective on this wanted us to collar you the moment we got the prints back from the lab, but I told him we should sit back, wait and see. I've known you for longer than I care to remember, Logan. And I know you aren't a killer."

"I did meet with her, North. I never said I didn't."

He ashed his cigarette and nodded his head. "The working girls trust you, Logan. They all speak very highly of you. Remember back when we had that case of some Johnnie smacking them up and cutting them? They would only speak to you. Our investigation gets nowhere cause the girls don't trust our officers."

"She attacked me. She admitted she had been paid to kill me."

"I figured that much. The hard question is, if she attacked you and you didn't kill her, who did?"

"I don't know."

"We just lead ourselves into more questions, don't we?" He asked, but he didn't direct the question at me. He was thinking out loud. "You didn't kill her, who did? If she was paid to kill you, who hired her? Are the people we should be looking for one and the same?" He ran a hand through his mousy brown hair and sighed again. "And why do I feel I should trust what you're telling me? We have enough evidence her to hang you, Logan."

"You do indeed."

He sat back in his chair and shrugged. "During the search, we found an envelope, addressed to the police. In it was a letter declaring that if she should die, there were a few things we should know." He withdrew a sheet of paper sealed in a clear plastic bag and tossed it to me.

_My name is Kwannon. If this letter should be found, then I am dead. _

_I was hired to kill Mr. Logan by a man who called himself __Barrington__. I doubt that is his real name, but none of my clients in either line of business was ever inclined to be honest with me. _

_If the police have found this note, then I would like to make clear that I did not commit suicide-there is no honor in that- and __Logan__ did not kill me. In our last confrontation he let me live, even though he had bested me. He told me to run, but where would I run to? The city is my home, and I am too poor to skip the country. So now I wait for the man who called himself __Barrington__ to send someone out for me. Word would have already reached his ears that I failed, and that __Logan__ lives. _

_If __Logan__ has been arrested for the crime of my murder, then he is innocent. I do think, however, that the man they send to kill me will not show me the mercy that __Logan__ did. _

_--Kwannon,_

_Formerly known as Elizabeth Braddock.___

"That's why we didn't arrest you, Logan," North said after I finished reading. "Just to make sure we knew the letter was for real, she gave a copy to one of the other street girls. She was very clever."

"What happens now?"__

"Well, we know that she was not a common prostitute, and this was no common murder. I had hoped that you could fill in some blanks for me but you knew less than we do."

"I can keep my ear to the ground if you want, talk to some of the working girls. But if you want me to stay out of this investigation…" I spread my hands in a gesture of indifference.__

North took the bait, as we both knew he would. "I can't stop you from looking into things yourself." His voice was slow, deliberate. "If only to clear your name."

I retrieved my notebook from my back pocket and asked "The girl she left the second copy of this note with. What was her name?"

"She gave us the name Honey. She looked all of about twelve years old."

I jotted the name down and flipped the notebook closed. "Anything I should know about her?"

"She's real hostile. But I think she was only reacting to the way our detective questioned her." His eyes flicked up to mine and I saw a crooked smile creep across his face. It was a cop smile, no more than a tug at the sides of his mouth.

"Who have you got on the case?"

He sighed heavily. "Summers."

I rolled my eyes. Scott Summers was a young and ambitious street cop when I first met him, and in the half dozen years since I'd known him, he had rocketed through the ranks to make detective before 35. He was a straight arrow, a pain the ass to know and he hated my guts. The sentiment was more than reciprocated. "Great."

"He wanted it and none of the others were putting their hands up for an assignment like this," He said. "He wants to carve his name in the honor roll in the lobby. He thinks this is the fastest way there."

"He doesn't know you pulled me in today, does he?"

North looked away and busied himself with stuffing a file in his drawer. "Just don't let him know about this. I could be in a world of trouble if they find out I spoke to you, let you off the hook and encouraged you to meddle in police affairs."

"I'll tell him that over caramel flavored coffee next time we meet in the village."

"Logan, I'm serious."

"So am I."

_The sun shone down harshly on us both as we walked arm in arm down a dusty dirt path that looked as if it was carved into the lush greenery around us. The sea could be heard crashing into the cliffs below us, but it offered little in the way of breeze. Jean held a parasol over us both, and the sun filtering through it turned the light a glowing pink against her fierce red hair. Her skin was as white as alabaster and her hair smelled of jasmine. Fine beads of sweat had formed on her brow die to the oppressive heat, but it didn't take away from her femininity; it made her that much more desirable. Her green eyes settled on mine, a smile playing on her lips. I had slipped my hand around her tiny waist. The fabric of her dress felt almost sensual against my fingertips._

_We were walking towards the edge of the cliff. The intrusive sounds of Madripoor faded and gave way to the violence of the sea. I stared into the foam below us. "Hard to believe something this beautiful could exist in such a hell hole," I said._

_She giggled. "They use this park for official parties and receptions, sometimes weddings, __Logan__."_

_"I wasn't talking about the park." I couldn't believe something that pathetic had ever slipped from my mouth, and I smiled awkwardly at her. She took my hand and we found a spot under a huge tree. We sat and she set down the picnic basket she was carrying._

_"Here would be perfect." She declared, and opened the basket, where she found a blanket that she laid out in front of us. "I love coming here. It feels like a paradise in the middle of some twisted artists perception of hell. General Chang made sure only the ruling elite and their favored would be able to access it, and anyone who trod upon these grounds without permission would be imprisoned, or worse." She produced a bottle of champagne from the basket and grinned. _

_"But shouldn't we be worried?" I asked as she poured the wine, chinking the bottle against crystal too fine to waste on me. She handed me a full glass and filled her own._

_"General Chang has this way of puffing himself up like an adder ready to strike, simply so the underclass can cower in fear of him. He is a coward." She laughed out loud then, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "He hates you."_

_I shrugged. "He should. I'm a foreigner with no real reason to be here."_

_She nodded at this. "He puts up with you though. You have shown him that his men will not intimidate you, and that frustrates him."_

_"If it weren't for Rose's connections I would have been greased long before now."_

_She circled the rim of her glass with a long finger, making the crystal sing. "Rose is a beautiful woman."_

_I nodded. "She is."_

_"And you don't find yourself distracted? Working with her?"_

_"Rose has got a good head for business, Jean. We only run a bar together." I looked out to the far away volcanic range in the middle distance. _

_"I didn't mean to imply anything different," She said, trying to inject brightness into her tone. "But sometimes, when I see you two together, I feel a connection. You finish each other's sentences, almost literally. I sometimes feel envious of that connection." She cast her eyes down. "I know it is foolish."_

_I leaned forward and kissed her eyelids. "It's natural. Don't worry, Jeannie, I'm not goin' anywhere…"_

I sat bolt upright in bed, blinking rapidly in the darkness. I hadn't dreamt of her in a few nights, not since I met the woman at the subway who looked like her. I shook my head to rid my mind of the ghosts of the dream. It was so vivid. It felt like it happened only yesterday. I ran my tongue over my dry lips and swung my legs over the side of the cot. I rubbed my face with my hands and sighed a heavy, shuddering sigh. I promised myself that once the Xavier case was closed, I would take Marie's advice and go on a vacation. I just wasn't used to all this high drama, and it wasn't my style to cut and run.

I stood up and stretched the knots outta my aching muscles, scratching my jaw as I contemplated the piles of dirty laundry everywhere. I was living like a hobo since the Xavier case began, even though I had hardly made a dent in his cash advancement. I moved over to the cupboards and half expected to see moths flying out. The tins of spaghetti that sat lonely and dusty on the shelves did not look appetizing. I guessed they were remnants from another tenant, because I don't ever remember buying them. I slammed the cupboard doors shut and one of them came loose from its hinges and clattered to the ground. I looked down at the mess it had made, still scratching my unshaven jaw, and shrugged. I'd have to buy some tools and fix that.


	10. Chapter Ten

**TEN**

Two years ago there was a man prowling the streets, the worst kind of predator. He would pick up prostitutes and take them to a nearby motel, rape them and savagely beat them, sometimes leaving them with lasting scars. The working girls back then were all worried, rumors being what they were in their profession. The police dismissed the first few complaints from the girls as nothing to be overly concerned about. Some Johns smacked them up a little, some too drunk to care what they did, some taking out the frustrations of their day on the girls. Whether the tired looking desk sergeant had seen too much of this sorta thing, or whether it was because the crimes themselves were against prostitutes, they were allowed to continue, until one girl was beaten so severely that she was in a coma for three weeks and sustained lasting brain damage. The press got wind of the case and it was splashed all over the front pages. The police department could do nothing but act in the face of the surprisingly vocal public outcry, but it was too late; the girls who were questioned said nothing in protest, even when they were threatened with jail. The tenuous trust between the girls and the police had been broken.

That's when detective David North approached me. He asked if I could hit the streets; get the girls to see sense, as he put it. He didn't want the situation to worsen if this shadow of a man started killing the girls. When I agreed and set out to get whatever information I could, I found them to be trusting of me, as if they accepted me as one of their fellow downtrodden. After whispered rumors and half truths, I was able to get a partial number plate, make and model of his car and a good description of him. I tracked him down and what I found was a neurotic little man who resembled a friar or something, surrounded by books about birds in an apartment that looked almost exactly like mine. After receiving some of what he dished out to the girls, he spilled the whole story from his mouth in a torrent. I dragged his sorry ass to the police station just so I didn't have to hear his self righteous pseudo religious tripe. The police got their confession, the papers got off their backs and the working girls could continue doing what they could to survive.

In the two years since, I have made some strong contacts with the girls. If any street rumors are doing the rounds then the older ones will come to me before they ever set foot in the police station. Some of the older ladies will let me take them for a walk, and for the price of a muffin and coffee, they gladly tell me their life story. Now, I needed one of the younger girls to help me out. I just hoped my reputation preceded me.

I found Honey at the mouth of an alleyway, posing herself provocatively at the passing traffic. She was just far back enough to avoid being seen by a casual walker emerging from nearby restaurants, but near enough to be noticed by a passing car. I crossed the street and walked up to her. She was dangerously thin, her straw colored hair falling over her shoulders. Her face was pale and childlike. I'd be surprised if she turned out to be over sixteen. She sauntered up to me, her hands on her hips. "What would you like?" She asked in what she thought was an alluring tone.

I shook my head. "My name is Logan. I thought you'd like some coffee and a bite."

Realization dawned in her eyes, chasing away the glazed look there. "Logan, like the guy in Kwannon's letter?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. The girls have told me about you. They said you helped 'em out a coupla years ago."

"So what about it, Honey? A coffee and a few minutes of your time."

She looked around indecisively. "Look, I have to make a living here. Could it wait?"

I pulled out a wad of bills and peeled some off. I held them up for her to see. "I'll make it worth your time."

The girl stirred her coffee in silence and looked idly out of the window, refusing to meet my eyes. I decided to wait her out, see if she was going to speak in her own good time. "Kwannon was nice to me," She said in a small voice. "When I first came to the city, I was so stupid. I didn't know how everything worked, and I thought I could make some fast money. After being slapped around by some of the girls for wandering into their territory, I soon learned. Kwannon showed me the ropes, so to speak, and she let me stay in her room when I had nowhere else to go." She shook her head and looked at me. Her eyes were rimmed with red and she was shaking with the effort to hold back her tears. "I didn't know what she was doing to make more money, if that's what you're thinking. None of us knew. She was kinda exotic and the guys liked her because she looked like some Japanese princess."

I sipped my coffee, which tasted like dust. "When did she tell you about her other job?"

She sighed and hugged herself, staring down at her half eaten muffin, and looked for all the world like the frightened teenager she was. The only person who ever gave a damn about her was dead, and she was suddenly alone. She wasn't going to give up her knowledge easily.

"I know you haven't done anything wrong, Honey," I said reassuringly. 'You have to see things from my point of view for a moment. Kwannon tried to kill me, and I let her live. Maybe if I had done something else, taken her to the police station, dragged her kicking and screaming to a hostel or something, maybe she would have had the protection she needed." I severely doubted it, but I wanted her to see my frustration and my sorrow.

Something sparked in her eyes then, and she picked up her mug, wrapping her bony fingers around its warmth. "She told me after she tried to make the hit on you. She told me she made a big mistake, but she didn't tell me what that was. She sat me down on her floor and showed me her file, told me all about you and what you did. She gave me the letter and told me to take it to the pigs if she wasn't seen for a few days. She scared me, the way she was speaking. It was like she already knew she was going to die. At first I thought she was joking. I thought she was high or something…"

"Honey, what did she say about this hit? She showed you her file, showed you what she was asked to do, but did she talk about who hired her?"

She frowned in concentration. "In the letter, she said his name was Barrington," She said slowly.

"What did she _say_ to you?"

She shrugged. "Just that she thought he was military or something. She could smell it on him, she said. He was real high up or something, because of the way he spoke. He had another man with him when he came to her and put the deal forward. Never did find out who that guy was, but she said he was bald and wiry looking."

I wondered if this bald guy was in a wheelchair. "He gave her the file on me," I said. She nodded. I sat back and smiled to myself, then looked up at Honey. "She knew she was being set up."

Honey looked puzzled. "She needed the money. She was a really nice person otherwise. She told me to tell you it was nothing personal."

I reached across the table and patted her shoulder. "You got somewhere to stay tonight, Honey?"

She withdrew from me a little. "You want me, you pay like the rest."

I shook my head and smiled. "I didn't mean that. Stop being so difficult."

She was bristling at my attitude. "Look, just 'cause you bought me a coffee and some cake…"

I held up a hand. "If you'd rather stay on the street tonight and freeze, then go right ahead. You were the last person to see Kwannon alive, and I'm willing to bet good money that whoever killed her would know that pretty soon too. As I said, if you wanna walk outta here, go back out onto the streets, I ain't gonna play the hero and run after you."

I stood up and grabbed my coat. "Thanks for the information." I began to walk away when I heard her quickly scramble to her feet behind me. I turned to see her standing, her tiny jacket in her hands and a look of fear on her face. I held the door open for her and we walked out onto the street.

"No, Logan." Marie crossed her arms over her chest and fixed me with a glare. "She can't stay with me!"

"Where else would she go?" It was almost closing time at Harry's and Marie was clearing tables vigorously. "I wouldn't normally ask, but this is a very complicated case."

She stopped wiping the grimy surface of a table and looked over at Honey, who sat huddled in one of the booths near the door. "She's a prostitute!"

"She's also a little girl. And her best friend has been murdered. I think that they might come after her unless I get her off the streets now."

Marie walked to the bar and placed empty beer glasses on it, me following in her wake. We were keeping our voices as low as possible, even though music was still playing on the jukebox. "Why can't she stay with you?"

Marie asked, pushing her hair from her face and throwing a towel at me. "You may as well help out if you're gonna stand there and gawk at me."

"The same people who killed her friend are probably going to come after me next," I started wiping the bar top as I spoke. "I don't want her caught up in this."

Marie stopped what she was doing and then looked at me for a few moments. "You really think she's in danger?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I thought otherwise."

She let out a long sigh. "Alright, Logan. But you owe me so big. Ah will see if ah can get her a job with Harry. There's no point her freeloadin' if she's gonna be staying with me."

I smiled broadly. "Thanks, kiddo. You don't know how much I appreciate it."

"You can start showin' it by taking out the trash." She pointed to a huge metal bin overflowing with the refuse of a busy night. "And that's just for starters, Sugah."

I knew I would have to tell North what Honey told me, and sooner or later I would, but first I needed to take another look at Xavier's case. Something told me that Xavier's father was not a man of principles as his son was, and it seemed to me the answer to who stole his files was in his work, whatever that was. I made a beeline for a public telephone and feed it some coins. On the third ring Edmund picked up.

"Edmund, its Logan."

"Ah, Logan. I was wondering when you would again intrude upon my life. What can I do for you?"

"I need some more information about Xavier."

"You read the files, Logan. That's all I know."

"I'm looking at further back. Doctor Brian Xavier."

"His father?"

"Do you know anything about his research?"

There was a brief pause on the line. "Logan, I think you need to come here, to the library."

"Can't you just tell me?"

"If you want the information you come here."

The line went dead. I stared at the receiver for a few moments, trying to figure what had got Edmund so worked up. I replaced the receiver and started walking towards the library.

Edmund poured some tea for us both and sat down in his old leather chair, making a steeple with his fingers under his chin. "Forgive me for my rudeness earlier," He said gruffly. "Why did you want to know about Brian Xavier?"

"This case I'm working on, its for his son Charles."

"Yes, yes." He flapped his hand irritably. "I already knew that."

"Well, Xavier has me investigating the theft of some of his father's files. Most of Xavier's other documents were left untouched, and that got me thinking. Why would someone want to steal thirty five year old research papers full of outdated and obsolete data?"

"Obviously someone who doesn't want it lying around to be discovered." Edmund sniffed and reached for his tea cup.

"I wondered if there was anything about Brian Xavier's work that might be considered….Sensitive." I slurped my too-hot tea and placed the saucer back on Edmund's desk. "Something worth stealing even today."

Edmund grunted and leaned forward. "Brian Xavier, along with several other luminaries of medical science, was recruited by the government near the beginning of the cold war to begin extensive human testing of biological agents, experimental medical procedures, and advanced weapons development. Back then the threat of nuclear was very real, at least in the eyes of those in power." He was gesturing with his hands now, lost in his narrative. "I worked as a student under his tutelage before heading to Egypt. It wasn't a long assignment, just a few months, but the pay was more than I was used to and I was enthusiastic about the work. They were doing truly innovative stuff in there, you know. A lot of what they achieved has yet to see the light of day.

"Dr Xavier was a truly brilliant man; single minded about his goals, willing to do anything to achieve them. I think he threw his whole life into his work, because he hardly ever left the compound. In the end, people started to think he was going insane….But I get ahead of myself. Some of Dr. Xavier's experiments were considered too dangerous even for the military. You see, he had spearheaded a program through which soldiers were experimented on, tested in ways that were unimaginable. But these were great leaps forward."

"Like what?"

He looked at me with heavily lidded eyes. "He was working with hypnotists, for instance, trying to break down the mind of a rational man and replace it so that the conscience would no longer be troubled by the thought of killing. He was working on healing agents, even anti-ageing regimes. Dr. Xavier and his team were working to create living weapons."

"Surely he couldn't have kept files from back then."

"I would have assumed they would have destroyed all remaining files after the project was folded back. Brian Xavier would have tried to hold onto part of it, because he saw this as his life's work. He couldn't have walked away with only memories. His wife left him, his son was abroad. He was an old man left with nothing. Perhaps he saw them as his pension plan; sell them to the highest bidder just to piss of Uncle Sam…" He erupted in peals of laughed, which turned into a hacking cough. "You see," He said when he had regained composure. "When you reach the end of you life, you tend to get contemplative, reflective. You wonder if your time on this earth will be remembered. If it had been all worth it." He looked around him, at his books, and then back at me, his eyes watering. "Me, I have my corner of a dusty old library, collecting newspaper cuttings, reading and cataloguing everything that comes down here. This is my material legacy when I die, Logan. My life's work was the pursuit of knowledge, and this is testament to it." He shrugged and sipped his tea. "Sometimes I wish I had been a man of action, like you." He hoisted himself out of the chair and began to usher me out. "I've told you more about my time in that horrid place of war than I have told anyone. Its probably still classified information, but I doubt they care what an old man says in his ramblings. You just be sure you know what you're doing."

And with that, he shoved me into the elevator and pulled the grate closed.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**ELEVEN**

Something just wasn't right. The cogs were all turning, but all failing to connect together. Somewhere along the line I had missed something and everyone else thought I was on the same page. I was clearly at a disadvantage when Edmund took me for a trip down memory lane, and he seemed completely oblivious to it. Xavier's father was a part some government science project and it would appear to me that whoever stole the files knew of his involvement. I stumbled up the stairs to my apartment, fumbling for my keys.

I slipped the keys into the lock and shouldered the door open. It whined on its hinges and I looked over my shoulder to see light spilling into the hallway behind me. Mrs. O'Halloran stood in her doorway and beckoned to me soundlessly. I walked towards her door and smiled sheepishly. I hadn't been home to walk her to the door for a few mornings, and I was about to apologize when she pulled me into the apartment and held her finger to her lips until she pulled the door closed. "Logan," She said quietly. "I waited for you to come home."

"Yeah, I'm sorry…"

She cut over the top of me. "Logan, there were men in your apartment today. They were ransacking the place. I called the police but I was still on hold when they left. I called down to Joe Greenson but he wasn't home."

"Did you get a look at any of them?"

 She shook her head. "I was too afraid to even open my door. This is the first time there has ever been a break-in…" She looked at me with stern eyes, her demeanor changing from frightened old lady to hard as nails matriarch. "You _are_ in some kind of trouble, aren't you, Logan?"

I took her little hands in mine and sat her down, but she would not be consoled. "I'm OK, Mrs. B. I guess I owe some yahoos some money. You know how bad someone gets when you owe them money?"

She shook her head. "No."

I patted her hands again and smiled. "Will you stay here for just a few minutes while I check out my room, see if everything's OK?"

She nodded and shuddered. "But I'm not sitting on my hands while you go. I'll make some coffee."

"Fair enough." I left her apartment and crossed the hallway to my door. It looked Ok until I came up beside it, my back flat against the crumbling plaster wall. I noticed the hinges were completely popped off, and the door was leaning against the door frame. The door itself was made of cheap plywood covered in even cheaper white paint, and I could see where someone's boot had connected with it. I drew my gun and advanced closer, my ears trained for the sound of any movement inside. Nothing. I waited a few moments, holding my breath, and pulled the door open with my free hand. The door fell inward with a crash and I stepped over it and into the apartment, taking in the scene as I swept my gun arm in a wide arc before me. My bed had been upturned, my drawers ransacked and my precarious tower of dishes was smashed to the ground. Whoever broke in wasn't looking for things to steal; they were looking for information, with the happy coincidence of sending me a message: We mean business.

I crept into the bathroom and opened the door slowly, wincing as it creaked on its hinges. No one there.

I holstered my gun and went back to the main room, moving to the dressing table that had spewed my underwear and shirts to the ground, and I tipped it over. I knew that eventually someone would toss the room, but I thought it would be Joe Greenson, so I hid the only thing of value in the whole room: Kwannon's sword. I felt under the table and my fingers slid over the woven sheath. I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, stepped back over my fallen in door, and rejoined Mrs. O'Halloran, who had set two cups of coffee and some biscuits on a tarnished silver tray. She was seated, holding a jug of milk, looking at me questioningly. "Milk, Mr. Logan?" She had retreated behind the veil of formality now.

"Please. Two sugars." I slumped into the old chair opposite her and gratefully accepted the steaming cup from her. "Nothing was stolen," I said, as if that was any consolation. I wasn't attached to the stuff that sparsely populated my apartment, but I was struck by the disturbing thought that I would have been upset if Kwannon's sword was missing. I shook my head to rid myself of the ghosts of some strange desire to know a woman who tried to kill me, and stood up. "I really should be going," I said.

Mrs. O'Halloran looked up and clutched my sleeve. There was a kind of desperation in her voice. "Logan, be safe." She said.

"Jesus, Logan," North said with a sigh. "You shoulda came to me, made a statement."

"It's not as if this is a rare occurrence in that building. It coulda been anyone-and I keep my security lax, relatively speaking-I was practically inviting them in with only a lock and chain."

"None of the other rooms was touched."

"Yeah, that did get my attention."

North leaned forward in his old leather chair. "What aren't you telling me, Logan?"

I looked away for a moment, biting my lip. I let the silence draw out like a fine thread, then returned North's stare. "I think Worthington may have been behind this."

His response was so rapid fire I almost had to duck to avoid it. "You think Worthington is behind everything."

"Trust me on this one. This has his stink all over it."

He held up a hand and ticked off points on his fingers. "He has had to have you removed from his club-more than once-and can back this up with witnesses. Staff and performers have made some complaints-amounting to nothing more than drunken behavior in my book, but complaints nonetheless. One of his singers has told a female officer your presence makes her uncomfortable. He has enough information that, if presented to court, could land you in a bit of a jam. Now, I know Worthington and I know he's an arrogant ass. But there ain't a law against being an arrogant ass. Anything you have on him, give it to me and I'll chase it down. Otherwise drop the Worthington stuff." He glared at me hard, a look that has famously made career criminals crack. "So come on, Logan, but your money where your mouth is."

I shook my head and studied my hands. "It's not as simple as that. If I could offer something cut and dried, I woulda done something about it long before now, and I wouldn't have come to you first. All I can tell you is that I feel something not quite right when I hear his name. It's a deep gut feeling that I can't shake. I've learned not to ignore my gut."

"Nice speech," He said. "Buts you're still going over old territory." He changed gears so smoothly I didn't even notice the topic was now closed. "So you spoke to the girl?"

I caught a flash of flame-red hair and a smile that I could lose myself in, and closed my eyes tight. "Honey, yeah. She didn't give me much," I pulled my notepad from my back pocket and flipped it open. "She told me what we already knew about Kwannon's employer. His name is Barrington, could possibly be military or the like." I left out the part about the bald man and continued, "Honey claims Kwannon's file was collated by Barrington, or someone in his employ. North, I get the feeling she knew she was being set up."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Did Honey give you any indication that this might be the case?"

"No, she actually looked confused when I suggested it."

"So you base this on your gut feeling again? Or can you give me something concrete?"

"Not concrete. But think about it. According to Honey, Kwannon got tapped by Barrington only weeks before the actual hit. Now tell me North, you ever known a professional killer take anywhere under a month to do a hit? You gotta take your time, walk in the shoes of your prey, become their shadow. When you finally make the hit you do it clean, and seamlessly move onto the next job. Me, I was thinking this was just an amateur hit, but that isn't the case. Suppose she already knew I was no pushover, and she deliberately botched the job? So what would happen then?"

I could almost hear the cogs in his head clicking together. His jaw muscles were working as if he was crunching something bitter, and his brow was deeply creased. "She wanted this Barrington to kill her? She took his money, played him and got what she wanted."

I grinned at him. "Just a theory."

"I never would have seen it…So she may have written the note before the hit on you and not after?"

I nodded. We were bouncing ideas off each other, but we were close to something. Both of us felt the old white hot pins in out stomachs, the feeling you get when you run out of leads on a case, reach out in the darkness, expecting to touch nothing, instead grasp the intangible start of a good idea.

With Kwannon's case about to take a turn for the better, North and I decided to get ourselves a celebratory drink. North pulled on his jacket and I followed him out of his office, almost running headlong into the stationary figure of Scott Summers. Summers glared down at me with disdain, cocked his head to look over my shoulder and addressed North. "What is he doing here?" Summers demanded.

"Leaving." North replied with a grunt. "Was there something you wanted, detective?"

"I wanted a word about the case I'm currently working."

North nodded. He looked at your watch. "I just finished work five minutes ago, but I'll give you the few minutes it takes us to walk to the elevator." Without looking behind, North stalked off, leaving Summers and I trailing in his wake.

"I'd rather not talk about an active case with him around, sir."

"You got no other choice, Summers. Logan is familiar with the case anyway."

I was sure Summers was glaring at me, and I wanted to savor the moment, but being a guest and all I didn't think it was fair to rub it in. I looked at the floor and grinned.

"Well, sir, we've talked to most of the girls on the street, or tried to, and we got a pretty clear picture of who she was. She wasn't the happiest of souls. She owed some money here and there, but nothing major. A lot of the girls said she was difficult to know."

We rounded the corner. "Is that all the information you can offer?" North asked over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched. "This is stuff the uniforms should be bringing back to _us_. What else do you have?"

Summers dithered. He struggled to find words that would dispel the doubt telegraphed from North's icy voice and cold, hard eyes. It was clear there was a level of animosity between the two men, one borne out of professional, not personal clashes. Summers the Boy Wonder was an insolent prick, but he knew when plat politics. If the rumors were true, North would be captain within a month. "There was something, sir. We found some files tucked away in Kwannon's flat."

"The papers on Logan," North said, looking at me. "Don't worry Summers, Logan knows about them."

Summers smiled at his feet for a moment and ran a hand through his shiny brown hair before replying. "She hid some other files, sir. They were hidden in her wardrobe. She had built a false bottom in it and hid the files."

"More of the same?" North asked, his casual air defying the obvious interest in his eyes.

Summers shook his head. "Just figures, what looks like a lot of medical speak. The files are considerably older. We don't know if they have a connection to Kwannon's murder. I doubt they were anything more than some insurance policy for her, like if she was servicing a doctor or something and she was keeping evidence to blackmail him later."

North nodded. "Have the files bought up to my office on Monday." We arrived outside the elevator and North turned to Summers. "Try and get some sleep, will you Summers?"

The doors slid shut and North pressed the Basement level button. We glided down, listening to the ratcheting clank of the mechanics above us. North would have more than files dumped on him come Monday, of that I was sure. Summers wasn't someone who could stand such personal outrage as his captain exchanging information with a barely employed private investigator, and he would see to it that every available official recourse would be used up to let his superiors know. North sighed as the doors slid open on the car park level. "He's a pain in the ass," North said as he strode towards his car. "But he's also a good detective." He started digging in his jacket for keys, found a pen, and jammed the end of it in his mouth. "He's twying to pwoove 'imseff." He said around the pen, while both hands searched pockets. He found them and pulled the pen out of his mouth, staring at it contemplatively. "He's too eager to set himself up as a leader of men, he's not watching whose toes he's stepping on."

"Kid should be watching the ground instead o' gazing at the stars." I smiled at North across the roof of the car. "Let's get outta here and drink some ale."

"Right with you, Logan."

Flanagan's Bar was not far away from the station and hardly merited North driving us, but the nights were still too cold to turn down the offer of a ride when it was offered, even if there was no heating and the car smelled as if it had been shut inside a dead horse for three years and baked on high. I tried to crack the window open just to get some fresh air in, but the handle wouldn't move. I sat back and exhaled loudly as we pulled into the lot behind Flanagan's. The place was a decent relic from a bygone era, restored to a fine shine by Pete Flanagan, an ex cop who plowed his pension into a bar where off duty and retired cops could drink away their memories. The place had a heavy atmosphere of smoke and misery as we stepped inside. It was moderately busy for a Friday night, clusters of uniformed officers hugging the bar after a long shift, regaling each other with stories of their day, old ex cops sharing a solemn drink side by side, and a few detectives off in their own little corner booth, talking with their heads together as if imparting state secrets.

I'd been to Flanagan's a few times, talked to a few of the old cops over a brew or two, but by and large I avoided the place. Cops smelled outsiders invading their territory, and they like it none too much when said outsider is a private investigator. I and most of the other guys like me are considered bottom feeders, smaller fish that cling to a larger and more important one. 

We slid into a booth away from the clutch of uniformed officers, who were laughing as one of them demonstrated how he busted a man for urinating in a public place. We ordered our drinks and North sat back and lit a cigarette. He smoked in silence for a few moments, then snatched up a menu. "You feel like some ribs, Logan? I feel like ribs."

"Sure."

North nodded and we ordered when the waitress appeared with our drinks. He wet his lips with the frothy head of his beer. "You did good to get that girl to safety." He said.

"I think its best just in case. She's the closest thing you have to a witness should this thing ever go to trial."

He raised his eyebrows and an amused grin spread across his face. "You think we will ever actually tap the person...people…behind this? So far they've done a pretty bang-up impression of shadows. We know they're there, but we reach out to grab 'em, and…" He held his hands cupped in front of his face as if he had caught a butterfly. He opened his hands, palms out flat, and shrugged at the nothingness he had captured. "…gone. The best we can hope for is to smoke out whoever did the hit on Kwannon, at least get a name. Whoever did it won't grass on their employers, I can tell you that much."

I nodded my agreement and took a gulp of beer. The clutch of detectives on the other side of the room was watching us. "They seem interested in our meeting over here. I feel like your mistress or something."

He followed my gaze and nodded, blowing smoke through his nostrils. "They're good men, committed. Every one a team player who would do anything for his colleagues. They are sitting over there wondering why I haven't invited them over to join us."

"So this is like the ultimate betrayal?"

He snorted a laugh, still watching the detectives. It was like he was daring them to come over and say something. "Nah. They will get over it."

Blue smoke clung to the ceiling, rolling as each patron came in from the street, each pair of cop eyes in the place trying to divine if they were looking at a civilian or one of their brotherhood. I noted the only females in the place were the waitresses, and even their uniforms were eerily reminiscent of police uniforms. "Look, I wanted to thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt over Kwannon…There's not a lot of men who'd take my word for it, especially on the force."

His eyebrows rose at me over the rim of his glass. He licked his lips. "Can't say I could tell you why I believed you," He responded. "It was this feeling, right down to my toes, that I didn't have the guy who killed Kwannon sitting in my office. You're a good investigator, and I don't give a good goddamn what Summers or anyone else thinks. I've been in this job too long to care about politicking. Summers thinks you had a hand in her death, although he won't come right out and say he thinks you killed her. Involvement is a less tangible thing to prove, and in many ways it makes it look very good in court."

"Lack of evidence?"

"Yep. The brass always wants results that they can take to the public to show that we are worth their tax dollars. Nothing says that better than a nice, watertight conviction. Summers works cases with this in mind. He stores information, squirrels little things away in his memory banks, so that when he is asked to testify his story is coherent and factual. I have a suspicion the little bastard has actually withheld evidence to make a suspect fit."

"Then why let it slide?" I asked as I downed another mouthful of beer. "String him up, make an example of him."

North shook his head. "He's garnered a lot of friends at the top of the food chain, and he knows it. If you look at all of the cases he has closed, you see an unblemished record."

"Nobodies record could be that clean."

He nodded and rapped the table with his knuckles. "Bingo! Nobody can have such a successful hit rate. Its part of the job, knowing you will never close some cases. Those cases will become like boulders on you back later, sometimes you see them in your sleep, but you move on to the next case and promise yourself this one wont hit a brick wall too." He smiled his humorless cop smile and shrugged. "Summers is the first of my guys to have so clean a caseload, and that makes me uneasy."

We ordered another round of drinks, then another, and I began to slowly realize why I liked North. He had a laconic way of talking that belied his fierce intelligence, a man who still believes in right and wrong, trusting his gut instincts and following where they took him. We were cut from the same cloth; I felt a deep kinship with him as we spilled forth our stories, sharing jokes about things that most people would find repellant and loving it. We were getting drunk and we outstayed the staring detectives. Looking across at David North, with his movie star good looks, a Jimmy Dean wannabe replete with trench coat and a cool, menacing look that reminded me of the way a fox looks at a henhouse. I felt like I knew him, like we were long lost friends re-connecting. I closed my eyes and was assaulted with an image of North in a cheap suit, holding a gun in one hand, his other hand clutching his bleeding shoulder, looking up at me with his fox-in-the-henhouse eyes, asking me if I was ready. We were partners, and we were standing in a filthy, dark hallway…

"You having another?" North said in the present, in the here and now. He was holding his empty glass up and shook it expectantly, eyebrows raised in a question mark. He stopped for a moment, frowned. "Hey, you even listening?"

"Yeah," I said after a few long seconds of rapid blinking. My head felt fuzzy. I looked up at him. "Yeah, I think I need it."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**TWELVE**

_I saw her fall. I saw it with my own to eyes, and I screamed until my throat was hoarse. I was taken away. On the orders of General Chang I was deported. They ruled it a suicide. Chang ordered them to rule her death a suicide. _

I woke to the sound of banging on my door. I squinted ay my watch. It was seven thirty in the morning, which meant I only had about two hours sleep, and I was dreaming about Madripoor again. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door, rubbing my face. The door opened on new hinges that no longer squealed when they moved; I replaced the old ones after my door was kicked in. Joe Greenson stood awkwardly in my doorway, clutching his hat in his hands. His face was red and his eyes were shadowed and bloodshot. "Logan. Did I wake you?"

"Naw Joe, I always look this bright eyed and bushy tailed this early of a morning." I moved away from the door to allow him in. He stood where he was. "You want coffee or somethin' Joe, or is this not a social call?"

He shook his head. As if he needed to.

"Logan, I'm evicting you."

"What?"

"The break-in the other night was the last straw," He replied quickly, his reddened face turning redder. "On top of the bulky Russian lad and the business with Worthington, I think you can see why I have to do this."

"No, Joe. I don't see why you have to do this." I stared at him for a few moments, him breaking the stare off by looking at his feet. "I've paid up until the end of the month, Joe."

He produced an envelope from his coat and handed it to me. "That's what is left of your rent. Now legally, I have to serve you notice, but since I am handing you back the rent, the decent thing to do would be to leave."

I felt my hands involuntarily close into fists at my sides, my head down, my eyes never leaving Joe Greenson. Shadows of sweat were appearing under his arms, and his face was slick with perspiration. He wanted out of here fast. "Who paid you off, Joe?" I asked in a raw voice. My throat felt surprisingly thick with emotion. "Who paid you to screw me?"

"It's nothing like that, Logan," Joe said, blotting his forehead with a handkerchief. "I have to think about what is best for the other tenants and me as a landlord. I shouldn't put them in danger by allowing anyone to conduct business…"

"…_How would you know how I conduct business?_" I roared, startling Joe so much he had backed up to the door, fumbling with his handkerchief. "You don't care about your tenants and their safety, Joe. You've let them live in a death trap this long. So what is this about, really? First that little 'talk' we had the other day, and now this. You've never showed more than a passing interest in my affairs before. Why the hell do you care so much now?"

His voice came out too small. He was clearly afraid. "I-I have made my decision, Logan. Please have your things out of here by 10 o'clock tomorrow." He escaped out the door then, his feet whispering down the hallway.

Most of the stuff in my apartment was there when I arrived anyway, and the only things I really needed were my clothes, which I packed into an old gym bag and slung over my shoulder, along with Kwannon's sword. Figuring that whatever was about to happen from now on, at least I had clothes on my back and a pig sticker to beat the baddies away. I stepped out into the hall and noticed Mrs. O'Halloran standing on the carpet in between our apartments.

"I heard what just happened, Logan." She said quietly.

I nodded. "I guess I'm more of a pain in the ass than I thought," I responded with a smile.

She smiled a little, too. "What will you do now?"

I shrugged. "What I've always done. I'll figure something out."

She shook her head and the lines on her forehead deepened as she withdrew her purse from her coat. I was already protesting as she produced a wad of bills. "Logan, for once will you accept someone's help and not call it charity!" She said firmly, grabbing my hand and shoving the bills into it.

"But…I can't…"

"You'll do as I say, Logan! Take the money and at least use it to get a cheap room for the next few days. Even if you give the money away after that, I don't care."

I closed my fist around the money, looked up and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you."

She nodded and shooed me away, trying once again to hide behind her image of a rough old lady.

I wondered if Johnnie Wraith knew what had happened. I wondered if he had cooked up more fantastic conspiracy theories for me to buy into. I walked a few blocks, trying to work off the anger that bubbled inside me because someone was playing me for a fool. My whole life was going to the dogs and it all started when I accepted the job from Xavier. I knew I should have looked into the situation a little more closely before taking him on, but I couldn't blame him for this. Not really. I wondered if Kwannon's bald man was in fact Xavier, and his job, the whole thing, was a set up to get me killed. Why? Did he have connections with this Barrington, who paid Kwannon to kill me?

Edmund's speech from the other night rattled around in my head. "_You just be sure you know what you're doing"…._

This whole situation stank to high heaven. Joe Greenson was scared when he evicted me, so much so that he was physically shaking. I'd never known him to give refunds in the entire time I had known him. His little talk to me a few days back only re enforced my growing suspicion that someone had either paid him off or threatened him, probably the same people who ransacked my place.

I wondered if I should call North, see if he's had his ear to the ground, but with Summers sniffing around and not liking my smell, I thought it would be wise not to. I wished that Johnnie Wraith had given me his number or address; so I could find out if he knew what the hell was going on. I felt like punching him in the face for all his superior, I-know-more-than-you-and-that's-the-way-it-is attitudes. I wanted to hunt Warren Worthington down and I wanted to hurt him, to humiliate him, show him what he was putting me through. I wanted to put the woman named Madelyn on a lie detector; find out what she was hiding….

I shrugged against the tightness welling in my chest, the rage rising. I had been through worse, hadn't I? I'd been down and out before, and I always worked something out. Momentary setbacks. I would fight through all this stuff and come out the other side.

I found a lodging house a couple of blocks away from my old apartment building, nestled away in an alley with a neon sign indicating it was open all hours. I knew what sorta place this was, but with my body screaming for sleep, I didn't like the chances of any grunting from the other rooms waking me up. I paid the sleepy looking young man at the reception desk for a week's worth rent, and he slapped down a set of keys in front of him, eyeing me like I was some exotic animal. "You lose your security deposit if the keys are not returned," He informed me with an air of authority. "Have a nice stay at the All Night Oasis."

I took the narrow flight of stairs up to the third floor, which was a dimly lit corridor of doors, a thick brown carpet absorbing my footsteps. The other good patrons of the Oasis were hard at it, fake moans and banging bouncing down the hallway, assaulting my tired ears. I fought the new looking key into the ancient lock, wrenched the difficult door open and stepped into my new room. The smell of stale sweat and cigarette smoke hit me in a sickening wave. I dumped my bag on the floor at the foot of the bed and sat heavily. The sounds of distant sirens and the growl of the city wafted through the window, which was opened only a crack, the sides painted over with crackling white paint. I fell back onto the too-soft mattress and fell into a dreamless sleep.

"Man, you just have a nose for trouble," Wraith said from the foot of the bed, jolting me awake. I sat upright and rubbed my eyes raw. Wraith was wearing a brown sports jacket which did not do a good job of hiding the shoulder holster underneath. He was studying Kwannon's sword, turning it over in his hands, then dropped it back onto the bed. "I spent a while trying to get a lock on you. At least you're learning to cover your steps better."

"Wraith, not that I don't appreciate your wake up call, but what the hell are you doing here?"

"Heard some bad shit was going down, Logan. I know your little meeting at Flanagan's did not go unnoticed. You and North re-connected pretty fast, huh?"

I threw off the damp sheets and snatched the shirt draped over the chair beside the bed. "I got evicted."

"Yeah, after they tossed your apartment. You're lucky you hid that little pig-sticker," He said, pointing to Kwannon's sword. "It's a pretty fine blade, man. Those things are expensive."

"What were they looking for?"

He fixed me with an amused look. "They would have shot you full of holes had you been there, but I reckon they were looking for information. You're smart enough to keep yourself clear of any of the clutter that most PI's do. You know… files, evidence, tapes…"

I was growing tired of his nonchalance. I pulled on my pants. "They scared the old lady across the hall half to death. I don't want that sort of crap going on around people who don't deserve it." I pulled on my jacket. "You got a ride, Wraith?"

He nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Xavier's school. You know it?"

He nodded, and I caught something in his eyes that I couldn't identify. "I know where it is."

"Let's get on the road then."

We headed down the stairs and I threw the keys back at the kid behind the counter. When he returned my security deposit we walked out onto the street and jumped into Wraith's car, which was a pretty snazzy ride compared to my ol' tin can. He drove too fast, which was fine by me. I cracked the window open so the wind messed my hair. The city sped by like a procession of giants. "So, why Xavier's?" Wraith asked after a long silence that he seemed reluctant to break.

"I think he's involved in something. I just don't know what."

"How could he be involved in anything?" Wraith lit a cigarette and tossed his match out the window. "As far we know, he's just a guy who hired you to find some files."

I sank into the soft leather of my seat, folding my arms over my chest. "Something just hasn't sat right with me ever since I took the case on. Like he wasn't being completely square with me. Those files mean a lot more to him than he said. That much is obvious."

Wraith mulled this over, and shot a glance at me. "So what does this have to do with the matter at hand? If you haven't noticed, you've got guys willing to kill you bursting into your home, watching you all the time, and they are closing in on you, and all you can worry about is this Xavier case?"

"Look, I accepted his case before all of this crap started. It's been like a boulder tied to my feet ever since, and I'd rather cut it loose while I have the chance."

Wraith drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Fair enough, then."

We swung into Xavier's pebbled driveway about fifteen minutes later. My nerves were too raw to explain to Wraith why my gut was telling me I should come here; simple fact is, everyone connected to this mess was lying their asses off to protect themselves. I'd had enough. We marched up to the huge double doors and I used the heavy brass knocker to signal my arrival. The Big Russian answered the door, looking from Wraith to me with confusion. "Mister Logan. We were not expecting you."

Wraith kept his eyes on the big boy as I spoke. We were playing good cop bad cop without even knowing it. "I know I don't have an appointment, but I really need to speak to your boss."

"Regarding?"

"The case he hired me to work. Now, I can stand on this doorstep and freeze my butt off trying to explain, or you could just let me in and I'll explain it straight to the boss man."

"Professor Xavier is with a class."

"We can wait," Wraith growled. "I'm sure the good professor will want to talk to us."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**THIRTEEN**

Xavier seemed perplexed when he noticed us sitting in a plush grey couch, me idly flipping through a magazine and Wraith seemingly engrossed in the sight of his fingernails. Xavier wheeled himself towards us, a smile on his face but not in his eyes. "Logan, this is a surprise." He said, and then turned his attention to Wraith. "I don't believe we've met."

Wraith stood up and offered his hand. "John Wraith." They shook hands and Wraith remained standing as I got to my feet. Xavier looked at us both for a few seconds, his jaw working slowly. "I think we can talk in my office without being disturbed." He led us down a long hallway to his now familiar office. When we were seated, he offered us refreshments. Wraith accepted the offer of iced tea, I stuck with water. When Xavier had finished ordering, he placed his hands flat on his desk and leaned forward. "Let me start by saying I would have appreciated a call before you came, Logan," He said, catching my eye. "But I realize that sometimes life doesn't run to schedule. This is about the case?"

I nodded. My face felt hot, and I suspected it had a lot to do with his reprimand. I could feel my good reputation going down the drain as he looked into my eyes. I had already broken one of the terms of our agreement. I cleared my throat. "A few things have come to light that I thought might interest you."

He nodded. "Such as?"

"Well sir, I've been doing a lot of research on your father's dealings with the government, read some papers on him." I offered Xavier a smile. "Although a lot of it is over my head, I did manage to uncover some interesting bits of information." I sat back, taking my time now. "Professor, have you read any of your father's files?"

Xavier's brow creased. He took a while to respond, as if trying to remember if he had. "Some files. I was going to have it catalogued, and when I had that finished, I was going to dedicate some time to studying them in greater detail."

"What exactly was in these files?"

Again he frowned, sighed a little. "As far as I can recall, the files I looked at contained information regarding muscle growth, stimulation of certain muscles for strength, speed and so forth. It was fascinating but a little dry and rigid, as was my father's style." He smiled sadly for a moment, then caught my eye again. "His work, as I said when we first met, depended largely on outdated practices and principles. It would not be of use except for academic purposes today."

Wraith watched this whole exchange silently, absorbing the information, keeping an eye on Xavier's face as he spoke. If Xavier was uncomfortable with his presence he didn't show it.

"You didn't mention that some of his files survived the theft."

Xavier's from deepened. "What are you talking about?"

I took my notepad out, flipped back a few pages, then leaned forward. "I took a trip to the storage facility where they were kept, and I told that only certain files were taken. They told me they delivered a list of the boxes that were stolen, and on that list, it clearly stated that some of Dr. Xavier's files were left behind. They wouldn't tell me anything else, didn't let me see the files, but they are on the list I was shown."

"The list I received was an inventory only. Some of the files they have recovered were personal correspondence kept by my father, not connected to his work."

_Bingo_. I had him caught with my lie. I produced a folded piece of paper from my pocket, unfolded it and held it up for him to see. "I was given a list of people who had permission to access the files in question. As you said before, they are all people connected with your school. You don't think any of these people could be responsible for the theft."

"We are going over old information, Mister Logan," Xavier replied curtly.

I held up a hand, telling him to be patient. "Why did you lie about the files, Professor?"

His jaw started working again. "It must have slipped my mind," He said flatly. "Those files have no bearing whatsoever on my father's professional life."

"Have you read any of the correspondence?"

He paused before answering, as if working out if his response could sway my opinion of the situation. "I have. Not all of it."

Wraith looked a question at me: _what are we doing here?_

I wrote the word _liar_ in my pad, underlined it. "May I see those files?"

"I don't see what relevance they could have on the case at hand."

"All the same."

He shook his head for a brief instant, smiling. "The storage facility didn't say anything about the other files, did they?" He said softly.

I half smiled when he met my stare. "No, they wouldn't tell me a damn thing, but they told me all I needed to know by what they weren't telling me, so I took an educated guess."

He laughed at that, placed a hand on his forehead. "And now you think I am hiding something?"

"Are you?"

"Perhaps I was. But in no way was I doing so with any forethought."

I nodded my understanding. "Help me out here, Professor. I can't do my job with all these blocks in front of me…"

"How have you been blocked?" He cut across me.

I shrugged. "It's been an uphill struggle to get this far. Nobody knows anything, and it seems like the closer I get, everyone moves back a few hundred paces."

Xavier leaned back then, as if he was taking in what I was telling him. His demeanor had changed since he's worked out I was bluffing; he seemed relaxed somehow, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I thought this would be simple to begin with, like some kind of corporate espionage had backfired and someone had taken the wrong files, but I began to see exactly what was happening." His eyes slid to me, tired and resigned. "I got you involved too late in the piece, Logan. I should have never called you. I do apologise."

"You want me to stop the case?" I leaned forward and frowned. None of this was making sense. Xavier looked stricken. He nodded.

"I want you to stop."

"That just ain't gonna fly, professor," Wraith interjected, startling us both. Wraith looked in control, his directness obviously disturbing Xavier. "Tell us why you lied."

Xavier regarded Wraith for a few long moments, squinting at him. He sighed a long, heaving sigh and laced his fingers on his desk. "You want me to tell you why." He smiled the same smile he had when he revealed he had been lying. "This is a very dangerous case, Logan. I think I told you that there were people out there who wanted to stop my school, to discredit my teachings. Some of them are unfortunately in positions of power, and their reach is long. I think that whoever stole the files knew about your involvement in the case and began to step up their campaign."

"Wait a minute," I said, looking from Wraith to Xavier. "I was attacked by Kwannon _before_ I formally took your case."

Xavier nodded. "But _after_ Peter made the offer."

That was true. I had the feeling I was being watched when I spoke to the big Russian outside my building what seemed a lifetime ago now. I put it down to Joe Greenson's snooping, but I hadn't considered someone was tailing me. Had seen the conversation, probably heard it, and reported it to whoever ordered the hit on me. The whole story worked well when you looked at the established facts with this new information already in your mind. I was almost certain Xavier knew of this before he offered me the job. He knew something about these omnipotent forces that he was still withholding. "If it is indeed enemies of your school," I said slowly, trying to place my thoughts in some kind of order before I spoke. "Why do they care so much about me? And why didn't they steal all your files at the storage facility?"

"I don't have the answers you seek," Xavier said with rising annoyance, flicking his gaze between Wraith and myself. He swiped a hand over his sweating brow, studied his wet fingertips, and sighed. "I am sorry. This has been a very trying time."

"I do appreciate that. You need to understand, I am committed to getting to the bottom of this."

He looked up at me with surprise. "You mean you are still on the case?"

I nodded. "But I need to work without any further lies. I can't be kept in the dark."

"You have my word."

I wanted to believe him. Whatever Charles Xavier was, he wasn't a bad man. Perhaps his father's shadow still held him in sway. At least that would explain his reluctance to divulge much about his father's correspondence. I knew that it was an invasion of privacy to ask him to turn over his father's letters, but I needed them. I felt like a heel for asking. He called the storage facility and instructed them to turn over the remaining boxes for my inspection, his voice rising over the complaints of the person on the other end. He put down the receiver and looked at me pointedly. "Everything is set, Mister Logan."

I thanked him and I elbowed Wraith to indicate we were leaving. Wraith was staring at Xavier with an intensity I had not expected from him. When we were outside I asked him what it was all about.

"He's still lyin'" He growled as he dug his keys from his pocket.

"There's no law against that," I pointed out.

"Maybe not, but I get the distinct feeling he's covering for himself."

We got in the car and when we were on the freeway, I turned to Wraith, who was smoking a stogie and looking thoughtful. "Why do you care so much about this case?" I asked.

He frowned in my direction. "Are you touched in the head or something? You invited me along for the ride."

"You went pretty hard on Xavier back there. He could smell we were doin' the whole good cop bad cop thing."

"You got what you wanted though. Access to Xavier's daddy's files."

I couldn't argue with that. We'd got what I had set out to achieve. Wraith's interrogation of Xavier notwithstanding. "He's a scholar, Wraith. Whatever his daddy may have been up to, I think he's on the level."

Wraith nodded. "Ok, whatever you say, Logan."

"You don't think he's on the level."

He chewed his words before he spoke, changing gears and smoking with his free hand. "I think he's pulled you into something bad, Logan. However honorable his intentions might be, I would be very wary."

"You keep on saying that there are bad things happening, Wraith," I said with a long sigh. "You keep telling me there are bad men out to get me, but where are they now?"

"Logan, do you even hear yourself talking? I saw the look in your eyes when I took you to Mastodon's grave. You remembered something from all those years ago. You try and tell me I'm making any of this up."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't tell him I didn't remember. Back at the cemetery, his words had sparked a chain of images that burned themselves into my mind. He remembered more than me, that much was obvious, but he was reluctant to tell me any more than the bare bones of our history. I knew he was trying to keep me in the dark for what he thought was my own safety. "What do you remember about me?" I asked him.

He looked sideways at me. "Man, I told you. You're better off not knowing what happened…"

"I ain't talking about any of that top secret stuff," I glared at the side of his head for a few seconds. "I want to know what sort of man I was."

He sighed, a blue stream of smoke escaping his mouth. He kept his eyes on the road as he talked. "You ain't changed that much, Logan," He said softly. "I mean, yeah, OK, we were involved in some pretty messed-up stuff. We did some things that good men would baulk at, stuff that would give good men nightmares. Back then, we told ourselves we were following orders, but you…" He sucked on his cigar and closed his eyes for a moment. "You were the one we all wanted to be. You were a good man, someone with as much integrity as a killer could have. What I didn't know at the time, what none of us knew, was that the rest of us were just failed prototypes. You were the one they wanted, so they pulled you off our detail, put you on a plane and we never saw you again. Meanwhile they sent us on a mission that we were never meant to return from, tying up all the loose ends. Mastodon worked out we were being conned and we got the hell outta there." He ducked his head and frowned at the memory. "We went our separate ways, going as deep underground as we could; making sure each of us knew nothing about the others' whereabouts. It worked for a good few years until Mastodon up and died. Then I found out that our old bosses were looking for you."

I listened to all of this as passively as I could, trying not to stop the flow of his words. I absorbed every word, trying to feel the same spark of memory I did at the cemetery. Nothing, just plain emptiness. Wraith's words were not reassuring, but at least he was telling the truth.

"Who have they sent after me?"

"I don't know. I have a good idea, though. And if it is who I think it is we are in serious trouble."

"Who?"

"Look man, I've already told you enough…"

"Wraith, who?"

He sighed again. "Creed."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**FOURTEEN**

The trip to the storage facility was silent and packed with tension. I had stopped trying to ask him who this Creed was, and for the first time I sensed a fear in him I'd never before glimpsed. The mood in the car was not helped when we arrived at the storage facility, as we were greeted by the same dour little man I had encountered before. He wore a frown on his squashed little face that could have melted plastic as he waved us through the building. "Professor Xavier was very insistent that you gain access to his remaining files," He said over his shoulder as we traveled down a long grey corridor. He cast a lingering glance at Wraith. "Despite our policies and regulations, and despite our long history of confidentiality…" His voice descended into mutters ash he shook his head. "But who am I to argue?' We emerged into a concreted yard dotted with about thirty barn-sized buildings that resembled kit garages. The little man rummaged in his pocket for a huge set of keys, and jiggled them as he walked. "What you can tell him that the police could not, I don't know."

We had reached Xavier's storage building, which was one of the larger structures towards the back of the yard. The little man opened a serried of locks running down the side of the door, which he then opened to another shutter type door. Once both doors were open, he consulted his watch, shot Wraith a glance, and looked at me with contempt. "We close promptly at six." He shoved the keys in his pocket again, and began to walk away. "See that you are finished by then."

We walked into the room, which smelled of dust and age, and I took in the towers of boxes around us with a sinking feeling in the very pit of my stomach. There was no way we could sort all this out before six. Wraith walked to the back of the room and called to me. "There are some filing cabinets here," He said. Unlike the odd assortment of boxes I had walked through, these were organized. Each drawer was labeled with a serial number, moving sequentially from left to right. There were about twenty drawers in all. I looked at Wraith, who shrugged, and I tried the top left drawer, expecting to feel the resistance of a lock. The drawer slid open smoothly. The files inside were all marked in a similar fashion to the drawers. I suspected this was the system the haughty little man had worked out for Xavier. I pulled out the first folder and opened it. The first page was an index of the documents it contained, some with dates neatly typed beside a brief description. I followed the list down to _Doctor Brian Xavier (Reply),_ then flipped to that page. It was a neatly typed personal letter from Dr. Xavier's office. Holding it at an angle so I could see it better, I read aloud.

"W, Thank you for your letter of the 20th. I confirm that the investigations are going quite well, despite some early setbacks. Subjects so far have shown promise…." My eyes flicked up to Wraith, who leaned in closer, his brow knit in concentration. "…However with each advance we make, we encounter previously unknown side effects. I will have a report for you at the end of the next trial. Sincerely, B."

"This is what you've been looking for?" Wraith asked.

"I think it is." I shoved the letter back in its folder and took stock of the remaining drawers. "Let's concentrate on just the drawers."

"Anything in particular we should be looking out for?" He slid open a drawer and retrieved a folder.

"Stuff like what I just read. Anything to do with Daddy Xavier's work for the government."

We took bundles of files back to a small steel table in the middle of the room, reading by the light of a bare bulb above. I worked through the pages slowly, and as I read the letters, I scribbled notes in my notepad. Many letters were to do with his research, and spoken of in vague terms and euphemisms. Many were sent to an unknown party, and very rarely was there a reply stored in the following pages.

We methodically flipped through each file folder until I had reached a file marked X-1065-PROJECT. The first pages were half-completed graphs and diagrams, some sketches of muscles and bones that looked straight out of _Gray's Anatomy_. There was a note attached to the drawings, written in a precise spidery hand that reminded me of Professor Xavier's. The letter was written on fine, stiff stationary, and it looked as if it had been torn in half.

_We have successfully completed a human trial! Things have progressed with difficulty and have suffered greatly from recent budgetary constraints. I knew that this subject would be the last. The unwanted side effects on previous subjects concerned many in the project team, and to be honest I was beginning to see their point. _

_But after six months of intensive preparation, test subject X underwent the same procedure as the previous subjects, with the notable inclusion of multiple brain implants and hypnotic suggestion to remove the unwanted side effects abovementioned _

_Test subject X withstood both the brain surgery and the injection of the serum without incident, and recovered from both after a satisfactory period. Unlike out other subjects, X showed no sign of serious mental or physical degradation. He has responded to direct orders and verbal triggers unlike any we have seen. __Barrington__ informs me that both his pioneering surgery and subconscious manipulations have achieved the desired effect. The triggers to activate his programming have been included in the dossier I have prepared for our meeting of the 15th._

_We have much to do now, __Warren__. This project, fully realized, could be a boon for the armed forces….._

The letter ended abruptly where the page had been torn. My skin buzzing, I handed the page to Wraith. He took a few moments to read it and his expression matched mine. "Barrington." He said slowly, as if the name were foreign on his tongue. "Barrington was the guy who pulled the strings." His voice was hoarse, barely audible. "And Barrington was the guy who told Kwannon to kill you."

"Or someone claiming he was Barrington."

Wraith held up the file he was reading. "There are whole pages missing from some of these, man. I mean, you look at the lists that little man made, and then you look at the contents, and they just aren't there."

"Maybe they made a mistake."

Wraith smirked at me. "Does that little man back there look like someone who would miss this kinda shit?"

I sat back in my hard backed chair and sighed. "Whoever stole the files went through these as well," I said flatly. "Which means the theft of the other boxes was probably a smokescreen. They were really after this stuff."

Wraith dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. It had gotten unbearably hot in the little room. "What does it mean?" He asked.

"Xavier's father was writing to someone named Warren," I said, realization dawning in my eyes. "I wonder who that might be."

"Worthington's father?"

I rapped my finger on the desk. "No, it can't be. The timeline is all wrong….Unless it's Warren Worthington the First."

"The grandfather?"

I nodded. "He was the one who set up all the ties with the government, landed all those big contracts, and built the company into what it is today."

Wraith whistled. "You did your research."

"Edmund did his research." I stood up and stretched my aching back, shook out the tension in my muscles. "He told me that Warren Worthington the First signed a weapons contract with the government, and about the same time Xavier's daddy was pioneering some sort of procedure to give soldiers some sort of edge on the battlefield. I didn't put it together at the time, but Warren's grandfather had to have been the benefactor of Brian Xavier's research."

Wraith nodded his understanding. "They were up to their necks in something."

I stood there for a few moments, feet planted to the spot. Xavier was obviously unaware of his grandfather's involvement with Warren Worthington I, and I felt pretty sure he wasn't aware of Barrington's involvement in Kwannon's hit. By now Barrington would be a very old man. What business did he have ordering anyone to be killed?

"I was right all along about Warren being a bad seed," I said quietly.

"Seems to me you just had the wrong Warren," Wraith said.

I never got a chance to reply. Three men with guns appeared at the door, blocking our entrance. They looked nondescript, like low rent thugs. Wraith lowered his head and looked at me; his eyes telling me _get ready for this_. He took his hat off and squared his shoulders. I could see his fingers flex at his sides, just inches from his holster.

I went for my gun instinctively, and a split second later realized I did not have one. I must've left it in Wraith's car, or back at the motel room…Hell I could have left it in my other pants for all the good it did me. I tried to signal a warning to Wraith, gesturing subtly. He frowned and shook his head, then turned his attention to the biggest thug. "So this is how they do it," He said. "Finally they gun us down like dogs."

Wraith was buying time and we all knew it. The gunmen, so assured that they would kill us at their leisure, began cocking their weapons slowly. The big one grinned, showing a row of yellowing teeth. "Nothin' personal. We're just here to do a job."

"Who sent you?" I asked. My voice was low, raspy. I ground the words out through gritted teeth.

In reply, he aimed the gun at me and fired. At that instant, Wraith shouted my name and tossed me his other gun. I caught it, cocked and fired it as the big man's bullet struck a metal filing cabinet behind me. The big man took the bullet in the shoulder, but it wasn't enough to down him. Wraith and I scattered as a barrage of gunfire erupted around us.

I glanced at the gun Wraith had tossed me. It was a compact silver Derringer. It didn't have the power to put a man on his back except at close range. Even then you had to put the friggin' thing against his temple. Wraith was returning fire blindly, hoping that the other men would be hit with the grace of God. I didn't invest my hope so easily, and looked around for something else to use. Wraith would run outta ammo soon, and it became clear to me that the man I shot hadn't fired a single one in retaliation. That means, if he was smart, he would have a full clip left to pump into us once things went quiet.

"Logan, anytime you'd care to join the fight-!" Wraith yelled over the din.

The flash of memory hit me so hard it almost felt like a bullet.

_Wraith let of a savage arc of gunfire once we were all behind him. Spent cartridges rained over us as we crouched low in a corner. Shouts in a language we didn't have the patience to understand rained down on us in a similar way. We were in the bowels of some Russian complex, sent to kill Terry Adams…_

_"Anytime you girls wanna join the fight!" He yelled over his assault. _

_Creed and I looked at each other like chastened schoolboys, then drew our arms and fired over Wraith's shoulders. "Don't be so hard on the runt," Creed yelled at Wraith. _

_"This is not the best time to talk about it," Wraith shot back. "If we survive this, we can tear him a new..."_

_The floor beneath us screamed and tore as two white worms sought us out…No…they weren't worms at all! They were…._

I opened my eyes to Wraith's very unimpressed face.

"You slept through the good bits," He said.

I tried to prop myself up by the elbows, but my right shoulder refused to take the strain. I fell back in a sweating heap.

"You've been shot."

I could feel the throbbing heat of the entry wound, could smell the searing flesh on me, but I couldn't remember being hit. "I had a dream…"

"How nice for you." Wraith strode over to the bodies of the three men and knelt beside the first one. He searched his pockets, came up with some more bullets and another gun. He Pocketed both. He moved on to the next man.

"You were in it…"

"Logan, as much as I'd like to take a trip down memory lane with you…"

"We were sent to kill Terry Adams." I scrambled to my feet, using the filing cabinets as support.

Wraith looked over at me, his jaw working for a few moments before actually speaking. "You remember Terry Adams?" His voice was hushed.

"I remember the name in my head…I saw Creed, saw you. We were in Russia…"

"Man, people would pay to _forget_ what we went through there…Now you want to remember."

"You mean what I dreamed actually _happened_?"

Wraith handed me a weapon lifted from the third man, a heavy colt. "Terry Adams changed everything. After that, I couldn't see right from wrong anymore…Couldn't see what was really happening…" He sighed, shook his head. "It opened my eyes, and I owe it all to you."

"Is that why you're helping me now?"

"It's a big debt."

We dragged the corpses into the storage room and closed the door. It was almost dark, and not one soul could be seen. "So you think they knocked off early?" I asked.

"I think that pathetic little man knew these weasels were coming," Wraith said as we made our way through the main gate, which was still unlocked. "And he knew to get the hell outta here when the bullets started flying."

We walked through the deserted lobby and found Wraith's car in the lot where we left it. Wraith and I jumped in and he gunned the engine. "Logan, you sure get yourself into some nutty situations," He said as he pulled out of the lot and shot onto the road. "Is your job always this much fun?"


	15. chapter Fifteen

**FIFTEEN**

Marie regarded me with a look I couldn't decipher when we walked into Harry's, and it was not entirely welcoming as it usually was. The hard look in her eyes evaporated when she saw the blood soaking through my shirt. "Logan! Are you OK?"

I nodded absently.

"You've been shot!"

She made me take off my jacket and inspected the torn and bloody side of my shirt. She tentatively explored the area with her fingers and they came away wet with blood. "I'm OK," I reassured her. "I could really do with a beer, though."

"Harry!" There was an edge to Marie's voice I had never heard before. It was close to hysteria. Harry lumbered out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a filthy apron, and frowned in my direction.

"Did you go and get yourself shot up?" Harry growled at me.

"Seems like it."

Harry sighed and waved me through the kitchen ahead of him. He yelled for Marie to get his medical kit. "Lordy but you do get yourself into some scraps," He grunted when he were in his tiny little office behind the kitchen. Marie appeared in the door, wide eyed and breathless, and handed Harry his kit. He shooed her out and settled his considerable bulk in his ratty old chair. Light bounced of his bald head as he leaned forward to inspect the wound. He shook his head and ordered me to strip to my waist. As I did as I was told, he grabbed some huge tweezers, some scissors and some cotton bud. "The bullet's still in there," He said. "You feel anything?"

"It's a bit uncomfortable."

"You're going to be in a lot more pain after I dig it out." He snatched a small bottle of whiskey from his desk and tossed it to me. "Take a good belt of this."

I opened the bottle and felt the jolt of the tweezers being shoved into the wound. The bullet had drove itself only a small way into my side, just under my ribs, and if Marie hadn't have pointed it out I probably would have passed out in another hour or two. I'd seen guys live for days after being shot in the belly, but they all wished they had died the instant the bullet struck them. I stifled a shout as he jerked the tweezers away, cursing.

"Can you get this thing out or not?" I said through gritted teeth.

Harry muttered something under his breath and wiped his forehead. "Been a while since I did this," He said by way of apology. "My hands aren't as steady as they used to be…" He grabbed the whiskey and took a belt of it himself, wiped his lips and glanced up at me. "I was a medic in the war. All of 21 years old and our real medic had been killed three weeks previous." He had started with the tweezers again, although this time I didn't feel it. "Now the perquisites for being a medic in the war was, being fast on your feet, knowing who was beyond saving and who to leave behind. Surgery was outta the question when you were being blown to hell on all sides. Most of the time I just said a prayer to the poor bastards with half their guts hangin' out and moved on. There was no time. A pretty little nurse named Juniper let me help her on her rounds, and I learned how to dig out and cut off whatever ailed a soldier, with little or no anesthetic…" He sucked his breath through his teeth. "..So this ain't the worst thing in the world."

This time he withdrew the bullet. He held it up for me to see, grunted, and dumped the bullet in a bowl of peanut shells on his desk. He held the cotton bud against the wound and found some tape to hold it in place. Pleased with himself, he lit a cigar and puffed away. "You're going to need stitches," he said around the stogie. "But you'll live."

"Thanks, Harry. I owe you one."

He leaned forward in his chair and fixed me with a look. "How's about you promise me somethin' and we'll call it even."

I started buttoning my shirt and raised an eyebrow at him. "A promise? That's it? You ain't got some unmarried cousin back in Iowa or something…"

"Logan, shut the hell up and listen for a change." His face was deadly serious, his eyes boring holes into mine. "That girl out there is real sweet on you. I wanna know what the hell you're doin' taking advantage of that."

"Harry, I ain't touched her."

He slapped the desk and his face flushed red. "Sure as hell you haven't! I even _suspect_ somethin' like that happens and you'll have a lot more to worry about than just a bullet. You dumped some mighty heavy responsibility on her shoulders, bringing that little street urchin here and askin' Marie to baby sit."

I braced myself, squared my shoulders. "I'm sorry for that, Harry. If there was any other way…"

"Logan, don't even start in with the excuses 'cause I don't rightly care what circumstances bought you to this point. Did I ask you to explain why you've come into my establishment bleeding from a bullet wound? No. I pulled the goddamned thing outta you."

"And I appreciate it."

He ignored me. "What I'm concerned about is Marie. She's a good girl, a fine young belle. And she's sweet on you. I don't want her getting into trouble on account her feelings for you. Is this prostitute you dragged in here going to bring anything bad with her?"

I looked at the floor. "I don't think there's any danger, but I thought it would be safer if she had a roof over her head, and she's away from whoever killed her friend."

He nodded, puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. "You told anyone else she's here?"

"Give me some credit, Harry…"

"I'm serious as a heart attack, Logan. You serious about protectin' those girls?"

I nodded.

"If I shake your hand I have your word." He held his hand out and I shook it. He looked me in the eye and grunted. "Awright. Good enough for me."

"He's good as new," Harry announced as he emerged from the back room. He slapped me on the back. "And not without a few words from yours truly about playin' with the rough kids."

Marie smiled at him as she set a beer down in front of me. "Don't listen to his lectures, Logan," she said. "He's always in my ear with all that grown up stuff."

I gratefully accepted the beer, took a gulp, and smiled crookedly at Wraith. He held his beer up in salute. "Where's Honey?" I asked Marie.

Marie indicated behind me with a nod of her head. I turned to see Honey dressed in a uniform too biog for her, and she was cleaning tables. "She's been grumbling bout the work, bout the conditions, bout pretty much everything," Marie said. "But I think she's happy bein' off the streets."

"She give you any trouble?" I asked.

"Some at first. Mainly the you-can't-tell-me-what-to-do-I'm-all-grown-up speech, but after a few words from yours truly, she came around and started to see things my way." She grinned and tossed her wavy auburn hair, obviously proud of herself.

"You're a wonder, Marie."

"That's what they all say. Now if ya'll excuse me, I have some real customers to serve."

We stayed for a while after that, downed a few more beers, and decided to head out into whatever ambush was waiting for us on the other side of the door.

Of course, there were no assassins lying in wait for us when we walked into the parking lot, but there was a lone woman with flame-red hair leaning against Wraith's car, wearing a heavy coat against the chill. She was wearing the same coat when I'd seen her in the subway station. She looked up as we approached. Her eyes were puffy and red, as if she had been crying. "Mr. Logan," Madelyn said.

Wraith looked from her to me, clicked his fingers and grinned. "You know what? I think I left my keys back at the bar…" He turned around and whistled a tune as he went. He couldn't have misread the situation more. "You've been waiting for me," I said.

She nodded. "I needed to apologise to you for the way I acted the other day," She said in a small voice.

"I took no offence," I lied.

She lifted her chin as if in a challenge. Her eyes settled on me like heat seeking missiles, and there was something in those eyes that told me something was amiss, but I couldn't place exactly what that was. "The truth of the matter is, you scared me."

"I'm sorry if you were scared."

She nodded again, sighed. "You sounded so convinced that what you were saying was true. I'd seen you in the audience when I was onstage a few times, and mentioned it to Warren." She smiled. "He told me you were a violent, delusional drunk and I should stay away from you. Of course when you approached me the other day, my first instinct was fear." She shrugged. "But your sincerity was so touching. You called me Jean. Who was she, and why do I remind you of her?"

A spear of emotion almost ripped me in two. I swallowed hard. This was not a conversation I wanted to have right now. "You don't need to know that."

"She hurt you, didn't she?" Her voice was more insistent now. She took a step closer and I stepped back. I looked over my shoulder to make sure Ricky wasn't behind me, waiting to pound me in that gorilla-like way of his.

"I thought you were someone I knew a long time ago," I said quietly. "But I was wrong. Warren was only acting like the jealous bastard he is."

"Logan, you need to understand something here…" She reached out and touched my arm. Her eyes were on me, seeking mine out. "…I don't remember how I came to work for Warren, don't remember anything about my childhood, and as I have made clear before, I certainly don't remember you." She paused and ran a trembling hand through her hair. "I don't expect you to believe me."

"I don't have much reason to believe anyone."

"I've taken a great risk seeing you tonight."

I struggled to form a response. "What do you want me to do?"

She smiled sadly and shrugged. "You're looking for answers, just like me. I can help you look for your answers, if you help me look for mine."

I let a few beats of silence draw out longer than was comfortable. "OK."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**SIXTEEN**

Wraith blinked rapidly as I recounted my conversation with Madelyn. He was clearly as confused as I was. "Are you telling me that this woman is trying to get you to _trust_ her?" He asked incredulously. "She's too close to Worthington, and right now, we don't know how much he knows about his granddaddy's business affairs. Just stay the hell away from her, man."

I shook my head. "She seemed different somehow. Scared."

Wraith fiddled with the radio and when he couldn't find anything he liked, he switched the thing off with a disgusted flourish. Everything Wraith sis was with a flourish, I suddenly noticed. "You don't know enough about the girl to trust her, Logan."

A few beats of silence. "She looks like a girl I was in love with."

He shot me a sideways glance, long enough to show me his surprise. "You remember your time with _that_ girl?"

"A girl who could have been her twin, yes."

"And you remember the _whole time?_ Not just flashes of memory, but whole chunks at a time?"

"Sometimes."

He slammed the heel of his hand on the dash and exploded. "God damn it!" He wrenched the car into the parking lot of an old gas station, and fixed me with a hard look. "When you remember these moments," His voice had lowered a little, and there was calm in his eyes. "When you see yourself with this girl? Do you feel a joy so limitless you feel as if you'd never been happier at any other time?"

I frowned. "Wraith, we don't have time for this psychological shit. We need to get moving…"

"Shut the hell up and quit with the patronizing. Answer the friggin' question."  
I took a breath and closed my eyes, for the first time recalling my dream from the motel. Nothing had changed; if anything, the details were more real. Jean was leaning into me. I could feel the fabric of her dress against my skin and I could feel the sun trying to struggle through the veil of her umbrella. We were in the bustle of Madripoor and we were in love. As much as I hated to admit it, I'd never been happier in my life. "It's the only good memory I have," I said to Wraith finally. "Does that make you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Wraith shook his head. "Naw, Logan. It doesn't make me happy at all." He sighed like a language teacher trying to explain the nuances of a strange and mysterious culture. "I have similar memories."

"What, of Madripoor?"

"My happiest memories." He was fast losing patience. "I remember whole chunks of the good stuff, never in any kind of order. I think maybe I was married at one time…" He looked at me with mournful eyes and smiled sadly. "My happy memories are in my kitchen, a room that I know for a fact that I built for myself, and I see a beautiful woman in a skirt that has one o' them summery floral prints, all pink and white and yellows. You know them colours that shouldn't go together anywhere but on a Hawaiian shirt?" His smile broadened. "I come up behind her, nuzzle her neck and smell that perfume she loves so much that smells like vanilla…She's like the smell of vanilla on chocolate, if you get my meaning…She was without a doubt the most untainted woman I had ever met. I remember the relief I felt when I fell into her arms after a few months of service…when an operation was over she was there. She could pat my head and tell me I'd done the right thing, even when she probably knew I hadn't."

"What's so wrong about that?" I asked.

"Not a damn thing is wrong about it," He replied. "But you have to understand what that sort of memory can do to men like us. It is a grounding tool. Something they used to keep us oriented in a real world." He let that sink in for a few moments before speaking again. "They created unreal worlds for all of us, implanted the memories so deeply it would take a lifetime to undo it all…Memories of the atrocities we carried out were invariably wiped. You're having daydream-like flashbacks to our missions I remember as well, and I think it's because for whatever reason, our brains are rejecting that false information."

"So that stuff-in Russia..."

"Most of that shit is better left buried, Logan," Wraith said wearily. "The Terry Adams kill, that did it for me. After seeing what Creed did, I couldn't continue. I wanted to return to my wife and my home…Only I found out that the woman in my dreams didn't exist and I had a whole world of hurt coming to me if they ever found me. I've been running ever since then."

This was the most information Wraith had ever shared, and I could see from the stricken look on his face that every word he said was true. I shook my head and tried to say something, anything significant, but my mind was reeling with the broader implications of Wraith's revelation. Edmund, Xavier, Worthington…They probably already knew what Wraith had just told me. If Edmund assisted Xavier's father during his period with the military, then the sly old man was dropping hints the last time I spoke to him. He was trying to tell me to abandon the search for who I am because the answers, when they came, would cost me. "So what do we do now?" I asked Wraith.

He stared bleakly through the windshield and shrugged. "I could start this engine back up and we could get out of here…Head to Mexico or jump on the next ship to Madripoor, but that would only delay the inevitable. If Worthington knows what his grandfather was up to, and if he sent that girl to find you, then it wouldn't be too hard for him to just pick up a phone and order our capture. Does it strike you as odd that he hasn't done that yet?"

I had to admit that I hadn't considered Worthington as any more than a jealous nut who didn't want me poking about in his club, and even when the connections with his grandfather arose, I didn't immediately make that leap either. "He could have ordered Kwannon to assassinate me," I said, looking at Wraith through hooded eyes. "The thought crossed my mind more than once after it happened, but I dismissed it as me being paranoid. North pointed out I was too fixated on the Worthington angle."

Wraith mulled this over. "Could North have anything to do with this?"

I couldn't immediately say yes to that particular question; North had been nothing of not helpful in the last few days, and I was loathe to drag him into the quagmire of suspicion that I was currently stuck in. "I'd be willing to lay serious money down that he doesn't," I responded in a measured tone. I hoped it was sufficient to get Wraith off the topic.

"North's not as clean as you think he is," Wraith said quietly.

"Don't you be sayin' this shit to me now, Johnnie Wraith," I warned him. "David North is a good man. I can feel that in my bones."

Wraith knew better than to call my gut instinct into question. He nodded lamely, held up his palms in a conciliatory gesture. "He can be a good man and still be a crooked cop." He shrugged. "I mean, what I hear, he's not worse than Summers. But North has done some stupid stuff in the past, and he's not risen all this way by being stupid, else he would have been killed long before now."

"North would not have ordered the hit on me."

Wraith shook his head. "You're not getting my meaning. I don't know who set the hit on you up, but I reckon North knows a lot more than he's telling you. A lot more than will even go into his final report on the dead hooker. You need to stop letting your loyalties get in the way of seeing the situation as it is."

I nodded after an uncomfortable pause that was crammed with tortured thoughts. "We should see detective North."

When we reached the police station, we were intercepted by a blandly polite young woman with too much make up that unfortunately detective North would not be available.

Wraith frowned down at her. "If he's out, we can wait. He'll want to see us."

She smiled after a few beats. "Are you from the _Express_?"

I gave Wraith a sideways look and he smiled at the woman. "Yes indeed we are."

"Follow me, please."

Wraith shot me a look as we were led into the conference room, which was bustling with media. On the stage behind a bank of radio microphones stood Phillip O'Neil, the current police commissioner. He was a man whose time was running out: His skin was pale and sallow, his eyes watering. If the papers were to be believes, he was a very ill man. He gripped both sides of the lectern as he began to speak.

"Thank you all for coming." He cleared his throat and shuffled papers while the murmur of the press men died down. "As many of you may have already guessed, I have called this conference to make some announcements." He leaned forward as flashbulbs went off in every direction. "This month marks my 20th year as police commissioner. When I look back on my career, I feel like the luckiest man on earth. From my small beginnings as a beat cop in the 7th precinct, to my progression through the ranks, my marriage and the birth of my children, I feel as if I have had a rich and fulfilling life." He drew a shuddering breath and continued. 'Six months ago my doctors confirmed that I have lung cancer. The disease has progressed so far that there is nothing they can do now to stop it." The crowd of newsies began to murmur again, and O'Neil held up his hands for silence. "Since my diagnosis I have been forced to make some tough decisions. The first is that I will step down as commissioner effective at the end of this conference. I have given much thought on whom to name as my successor, and I could think f no one more suitable to the task then my old friend William Pope." Captain Pope stood and acknowledged the crowd as he shook hands with O'Neil. Flashbulbs went off everywhere and in that moment I saw David North sitting behind the Commissioner's wife. He watched the whole thing solemnly and looked to the side, where Wraith and I stood, and his gaze settled on me, his eyebrows knit with confusion. Pope took over at the lectern and led applause for the outgoing commissioner, and North leaned forward to say something in O'Neil's ear. The old man smiled up at North and patted his hand.

"Looks like there is a changing of the guard," Wraith whispered to me. 'No prizes for guessing who's going to step into Pope's shoes as captain now."

At that moment Pope announced Wraith's prediction: "…A fine detective and an asset to the force, David North, will take over as Chief of Police, a role he has filled in when Commissioner O'Neil took ill, and so a natural choice."

The applause around us grew and then the floor was open to questions. The news men around us exploded with questions and I could see North moving towards us. Some of the journalists he passed patted him on the back or shook his hand, and he accepted each congratulation with one of his movie star grins. When he was close enough to speak without being overheard, he said "What are you doing here?"

"Seeing you being anointed," Wraith commented.

North's eyes narrowed imperceptibly in Wraith's direction, but he soon swung back around to me. "Look, Logan this is not the time or the place for…"

Wraith cut across him. "We have just come from being shot up by some goons at Xavier's storage facility."

North looked me up and down, and his gaze settled on the dried blood on my shirt. "What happened?"

"Same old same old, really," I replied. "I'm trying to do my job and people are trying to kill me."

North gripped me by the arm and led me out into a deserted hallway, Wraith following. When we were outside, North's tense demeanor had mellowed. "Talk to me," He said wearily.

"We came across some information that may have bearing on Kwannon's murder," I said, holding North's glare.

"And this 'we' would be you and Wraith here?"

Something in the way North looked at Wraith and the accusing timbre of his voice startled me_. They knew each other._ "That would be right," I replied.

"You'd do well to stay away from this guy," North said with a flick of his eyes in Wraith's general direction. "He's a crazy man that will end up getting you killed."

"North, I got no beef with you…"Wraith began, then shut his mouth and looked away.

"He tell you he's approached me before?" North said. "He claimed I was part of some experiment that went wrong, that we were lab specimens on the loose. He give you the same story, Logan?"

I looked from Wraith to North and frowned. "What if he has?" Wraith had obviously lost interest in the conversation and looked at the floor.

"It's bullshit and he knows it."

Wraith looked up then. "You had the same memories, the same dreams of the past as me and Logan," His voice was calm, measured. "If you want to deny that it happened. So be it. There's a reason you two feel like you've known each other for decades, the sense of De javu when you talk to each other."

North smiled enigmatically. "You're grasping at straws, Johnnie Wraith."

Wraith turned to me. "You see what I'm saying, Logan?"

I ignored Wraith and stared into North's eyes. "What do you remember, North?"

"This is hardly worth my time..." North made to step away but I grabbed his arm. He looked down at my hand on his arm. "You'd better let me go, Logan, or so help me God…"

"What do you remember?!"

Wraith let out a long sigh and shrugged off my hand. The fight had all but gone out of him. "I remember fighting alongside you and Wraith a long time ago. I served in the War, and at first I thought I was having flashbacks to combat. But they became vivid, detailed. Wraith, you, me and Creed. We were a unit of some sort…" He shook his head. "I dismissed it all as some kinda trick of the mind, you know? I woke up in a hospital one morning and the shipped me back off home, said I was too injured to continue fighting. I thought maybe my ordeal had caused all these fake memories to surface." He looked over at Wraith, who lifted his eyes and the pair seemed to back off from their hostilities. "What Wraith told me about his memories scared the hell outta me. I didn't want any of this hurting my career."

"So you're here now, at the top of the ladder," Wraith said. "What would stop you from trying to make that part of your past just disappear?"

"You think I ordered the hit on you, Johnnie Wraith?"

Wraith shrugged, scratched his beard. "Things don't look good for you at the moment, Captain." He used North's new title to drive his point home. "If you didn't who did?"


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**SEVENTEEN**

North inhaled deeply after lighting a cigarette. We were in his old office, the only contents of which were his desk and a few chairs. Everything else had been boxed up and moved his new office in City Hall. He glared at us both as he leaned back in his chair. "Have you thought that I might not have wanted to remember anything about my past?" He demanded. "I've built myself up a pretty good existence here. I'm a different man." He leaned forward at that moment, still fixing us with that baleful glare. "The man I was and the man I am today might not get along, if you know what I mean."

Wraith nodded. "We're all having the same problems at the moment, North," He said. "What you have to appreciate is whatever we were involved in back then has led to some unwanted attention in us now, if the attempts to kill Logan and myself are anything to go by. You're not searching for answers, fine. But don't try and hinder our search."

North contemplated this, tapped his fingers on the desk. "So far you have managed to find a weak link between Xavier's father and Worthington's grandfather," He said at length, drawing out each word. "Both men had a financial interest in a government experiment that might have involved human subjects." North gestured with his cigarette, sending blue smoke trails through the air. "This Barrington fellow may or may not have been involved back then, and we are all aware that Kwannon made mention of him in her note. A note, I might add, which clears Logan of any wrongdoing." He shrugged. "The whole thing sounds like a badly plotted radio drama, you both know that."

Wraith grinned. "Absolutely."

North returned his grin and looked at me. "So we try and find these answers you both want."

I was jolted out of the mire of thought I was stuck in throughout the whole conversation. "You mean you'll help us?"

He nodded. "Might be just like old times." He snorted a laugh. "If we could remember what the old times were like."

We left North after his promise to do what he can to locate Creed. Throughout all of this, Wraith seemed most concerned about Creed's absence. I only remembered bits and pieces, glimpses of a wild eyed man with a mean disposition and an appetite for carnage that would not be quenched. I relayed my recollections to Wraith, who nodded grimly. "Sounds like the Creed I remember."

"Why are you afraid he will come after us?"

Wraith smiled wryly at me. "If he's paid enough he'll go anywhere and do anything." He shook his head and laughed under his breath. "But getting back at you, he'd do for free."

I stopped him by grabbing his arm at the elbow. "What does that mean?"

Wraith just looked at my hand on his arm and shook his head sorrowfully. "When you couldn't go through with that last mission, he was going to kill you. North and I had to pull him off you and we made the decision then and there to dump Creed and get the hell outta that place before the Reds sent their guy after us. Creed hated the fact that you disobeyed a direct order, and in doing so you divided the team, such at it was." We began walking again, hitting a large crowd of people and blending right in. "He's the only one of us that I couldn't track," Wraith said. "He's one man I could gladly shoot in the head while he sleeps. In fact that's what I was planning to do if I ever found him."

We walked in silence for a little while, both of us lost in our own contemplation. I was beginning to see a bigger picture emerging now: Wraith's reluctance to tell me what he remembers; North's refusal to believe what he remembers, and me lagging behind, unable to remember. It was clear Wraith was afraid of Creed, and as far as I can tell, Wraith wouldn't blink twice if he was faced with a charging bull elephant if it was between him and his goal. His expression when he uttered Creed's name was one of fear, hate and apprehension. Creed was a voice in my dreams, a blur of vision sometimes, but nothing ever tangible. Wraith's reluctance to put himself in a situation to confront Creed gave me pause. "He scares you…" I said the words before I could catch them.

Wraith regarded me silently for a few moments and nodded slowly. "Maybe he does." He said it matter of factly, in the same tone as someone commenting on the weather. I felt a sudden chill in the air.

We walked in silence for a while, being jostled on all sides by harassed people trying to get where they were going, and as we rounded a corner, Wraith lit a cigarette and said "Damn." He had come to a complete standstill, and I felt out of place for a moment, standing still in a torrent of moving bodies. I was about to protest when I saw the look in Wraith's eyes. He glanced over my shoulder. "Those guys have been following us since we left town hall."

I knew better than to look around, just trusted in what Wraith was saying. "How many?"

"Two. Big ones. They saw me clock 'em, and they've slowed a bit, tried to blend into the crowd."

"They packing?"

Wraith's eyes narrowed and he made a half shake of his head. "Can't tell."

"So what do we do? Try to lose 'em?"

Wraith thought about it. "You ever known a hired goon who'd give up a paycheck rather than chase down the guy you're meant to tail?"

I had to admit I hadn't. Wraith's eyes were scanning the crowd, but I still resisted the urge to turn around. "Its too out in the open for them to try anything stupid," I whispered. "This ain't Chicago, for chrissakes."

Wraith motioned with his chin. "Here they come, nice and slow, like the got all the time in the world. One in a grey suit and the other in a navy blue one. Avoid a scene if you can, okay?"

I nodded and squared my shoulders just as I heard one of the goons speak.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. How long did you know we were following you?"

I turned and sized both men up. The one in the grey suit was like a wall with a head on top. The other was less stocky, shorter, and looked just as mean. "Long enough," I responded. Wraith smoked in silence

"We've been sent to offer you a ride with our employer," The little guy said, all Brooklyn accent and attitude. He looked ready to flip out our eyes with his pocketknife.

"And if we refuse?" Wraith asked.

The big guy opened his jacket long enough for us to see his piece. I looked from the gun to the big guy's face and said "Surely you guys don't wanna throw down in broad daylight?"

The little one squared his shoulders. "We've been told to bring you top our boss. He didn't say what state you'd be in if you refused though."

"Logan, looks our ride's here," Wraith said.

I turned to see a white limousine cruise to a stop beside us. We were escorted to the limo by the goons, and they shoved us roughly into the back. Once we were inside, I noticed that the goons did not join us.

We were alone with Warren Worthington the Third.

"You could have just asked, Warren." I said.

"If I thought you'd have accepted an invitation from me, I might have," Warren said, lighting a cigarette. "But I needed to talk to you both in private. This whole fiasco has gone far enough." He exhaled blue smoke at the ceiling, and Warren pointed at Wraith. "Mr. Wraith, would you be so kind as to take that bottle of champagne from its cooler and pour us each a glass? You will find the glasses on the shelf behind you."

Wraith hesitated and did as he was told. The champagne fizzed in each of the fine crystal glasses, filling the little space between us. Wraith handed a glass to Warren and then one to me. He poured his last. When he all had our drinks, Warren held up his glass in a toast. "To secrets better left behind." He sipped his drink and Wraith and I did the same, for want of anything better to do. I felt the hard lump of my gun resting against my back, and wondered if this would be the occasion to use it. "You two have become quite the team lately. I wondered how long it would take you to rediscover your link."

"How much do you know?" Wraith demanded.

Warren smiled and wagged a finger at Wraith. "I know that you found Mastodon and Maverick. Plus the erstwhile mister Logan here. Building up your team again…"

Wraith leaned forward, his look intense. "You knew I was searching for them?"

Warren laughed softly and sipped his champagne, regarded the glass for a moment, and smiled in my direction. "This is a very fine champagne, Logan. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I'd much prefer beer."

"I've been waiting a long time to open this particular bottle. It was one of my father's. I do not waste fine champagne on men I intend to kill, so you can relax and stop thinking about the gun you think you have concealed in your waistband. Enjoy yourself. I'm about to show you what it is you've been searching for all these years."

"Why?" Wraith asked. "What do you have to gain from this?"

"Very little, as it turns out, Mr. Wraith," Warren said softly, his eyes locking with Wraith's across the empty space between them. "I was fooled, along with everyone else."

Wraith sipped his champagne and regarded Warren with a look that could see through lead paint. "Alright, so you made some sorta deal with whoever did this to us."

Warren nodded. "Mister Wraith, I can't tell you everything. Not now. But since you have both come a long way to try and piece this thing together…I will tell you something just to whet your appetite. You remember when your friend Mastodon died?"

Wraith nodded. "Never saw a man slip away so quickly."

"His death was due to a procedure that you were all subjected to. A longevity treatment. Mastodon was one of the first test subjects, so the procedure was not perfected by then. His body regressed to its actual age soon after you met him." Before Wraith could speak again, Warren cut him off. "And that's all I am going to say for now. You two just sit tight and we will talk in depth, and you will have your answers, when we reach our destination."

"And where might that be?" I asked.

Warren allowed himself a little smile, downed the rest of his glass. Determination shone in his eyes. "From here, we are heading to the airport. We will then get on my plane and we are going to Canada."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**EIGHTEEN**

We didn't need to speak on the plane. Warren would not give us any information because it would deprive him of his dramatics, and both Wraith and I had been plunged into deep thought by the revelation about Mastodon If what Warren had said was right, then we were all on borrowed time. If the technique of age repression had been tested n Mastodon, what hope did any of the rest of us have?

The plane touched down and we were hustled into another limo, this time with two new goons for company. Warren rode in a second car, told us he would catch up later. Wraith stared out of the window as endless pristine white snow rushed past; it was hard to tell if we were moving at all. The air was oppressive and heavy in the limo, the two goons saying nothing and watching our every move.

"A few hours ago we were walking along a street in New York City," Wraith said almost in wonder. "Now we're in Canada, in a limo, being taken God only knows where."

"You think Warren is going to kill us?"

"I have a strong feeling that he might."

"That stuff about Mastodon…" I began, watching Wraith's face. "What was that?"

Wraith shrugged. "He's probably telling the truth."

"So it had to have been him who stole Xavier's files."

"If he didn't do it then he knows who did, and he has had some access to all that material," Wraith responded.

"He said another name," I said. "Maverick. Who was he talking about?"

"The good David North is Maverick," Wraith said. He let that knowledge sink in, and said, "Warren told us just to show how clever he was. He wanted us to know that he located the team before we even started looking. He knew, and he was waiting for something before he made his move."

"He already knew I was in the city. He had me kicked out of his club more than once."

"He had you kicked out because of that red head that haunts your dreams, man." His eyes met mine over his glasses. "What that says to me is, he used her as a honey trap."

"Christ Wraith, gimme a break…"

Wraith held up both hands to quiet my objections. "We don't know how far ahead he worked," he said. "Maybe she was there to lure you in right from the start. Maybe she's still doing it. I mean, what was that little scene out front of Harry's the other night? Wouldn't you call that odd?"

I had to admit he was right. On some levels, my instincts had kicked in when Madelyn spoke to me outside Harry's, told me to be wary, to not be so eager to accept what she was saying. But in the face of her beauty I had to admit I didn't listen. I didn't listen to Edmund's warning before that, telling me not to be such an idiot over a woman. Had she sold me down the river? Was she sent there by Warren to unsettle me? She had certainly looked scared, that wild look in her eye probably from the fear that she would be caught out.

I stared out the window, trying to shut out the thought that I had really messed up, had thrown years of good solid detective work away because a woman reminded me of the phantoms that haunt my dreams. I couldn't even tell if the dreams were real, if I was ever in Madripoor, and if I ever knew a red haired woman named Jean. Warren said they had experimented on Mastodon to stop him ageing; if that was true then what else did they do? Edmund said that they were working towards creating mindless soldiers living only to take orders. Is that what Wraith and I were? Is that why I can't remember?

"I've really messed this up, haven't I?" I said to Wraith. "If I'd been smart and put things together sooner, _we_ would have got the jump on Warren, and it would be us telling him how it will end."

"You can't blame yourself for this, Logan. If they presented me with the ghosts of my past, then I would have been similarly blinded. If it was the woman in my memories who was planted before me, I'd want to believe her too."

"I was an idiot."

"Maybe you were, but it didn't have a damn thing to do with our current predicament. Warren planned this. He set us up from the start."

"I keep going back to when this whole thing happened. The last time I saw Warren, and when Kwannon tried to kill me, I immediately thought of him. Mastodon…I mean North, he told me to leave the Worthington angle alone, even though my gut said it was him."

"Warren did this clean, Logan. He left no traces of himself in any of this, and I can guarantee you that when this is over, he will go back to Manhattan with his pristine image intact."

"He implied someone was working with him back in the limo," I said. "He said he was fooled along with everyone else."

Wraith nodded. "I reckon we're going to find out who that is quite soon."

The limo rolled to a stop outside a huge warehouse situated far from the specter of any large city. The ride had been long and silent, and the countryside had become indistinct and identical. The driver and our goon escorts all exited the car, and they ordered us out too. Whatever was going to happen, they were not going to let us out of their sight. Behind the limo, someone had already begun to lock a gate that was topped with razor wire. In fact the whole compound was surrounded by wire fencing topped with razor wire. It put me in mind of a war torn country. The only thing missing was jackbooted soldiers and rabid dogs.

Wraith did a full 360 degree turn and low whistled. "Do you get the feeling those fences are meant to keep things from getting _out_?" He whispered.

I looked at the warehouse, which looked as if it hadn't been used in a few decades. Windows were busted, walls were cracked and crumbling, and the whole site was eerily silent. Warren had obviously chosen this place for the atmosphere, and its physical separation from any potential witnesses. There were official looking signs everywhere that warned trespassers would be shot.

"Mister Worthington will be along shortly," one of the goons said. He squared his shoulders and heaved a breath, which came out as a plume of mist from his nostrils. "Please follow me, gentlemen."

He trudged towards the warehouse and we followed, with the other goon bringing up the rear. There would be little chance to fight back and we both understood it would be wise to play along. I'd been in similar situations before, but on smaller scales. Wraith looked as if he had been doing this sort of thing his whole life.

Inside, the space was bare. There was a cement floor which looked like it had been recently resurfaced. Directly above us was a catwalk that ran right around the huge room. There were ladders everywhere leading to the catwalk. There were doorways on every side of the room, some open and some shut and padlocked. As we walked past one of the open doorways I felt a chill air. It looked as though the path from that door led directly underground. I glanced at Wraith, who was frowning into the doorway too.

The goon in front of us gestured towards the door. "In front of us now." He said.

"So we're already in the middle of nowhere and you're sending us _underground_?" Wraith said incredulously. He smirked at me and shrugged when he got no response. "Why don't you guys just shoot us in the back and get this over with?"

"Move." The other goon said. "Now." He leveled his weapon at Wraith and Wraith shrugged again.

We walked through the doorway and entered a surprisingly narrow corridor that smelled of wet earth and stale air. The goons had chosen to send us head first into the corridor, one behind the other, and it was a very wise decision; the corridor was barely wide enough to accommodate one person, let alone two side by side. The other reason was that it was pitch dark. If we got any ideas to jump one of them it would be easier here. The goon who was up to that moment leading us was now behind us just in case we tried anything funny. He was in the perfect position to shoot us in the back.

It was at least a five minute walk until we saw light. The ground was beginning to slope sharply and the cold air was getting practically freezing. Wraith emerged into a well lit room about half the size of the warehouse's main floor, and unlike the main floor there were people here. Wraith stopped short and I bumped into him. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape. "Jesus, Logan."

I pushed him out of the way and saw four huge circular tanks against the wall opposite. Two were still intact, and the other two had been broken clean in half. The glass was moldy and dull, but you could easily tell that it was thick and sturdy. You would have had to hit that sorta glass with a fair amount of force to shatter it so cleanly. Ad my eyes focused in the light, I looked around and clocked a lone figure sitting in front of one of the tanks. Her red hair fell over her face and her hands were cuffed in front of her.

Madelyn.

I took a step towards her but Wraith held me back with a look of warning. It was wise not to trust anything at the moment.

"Welcome, gentlemen," came a voice from behind us. We turned and saw a tall, barrel-chested man in a sombre black suit. He had a thick black moustache and squinty brown eyes. He was smoking a cigar and he exhaled a plume of blue smoke to the ceiling. "You've met Madelyn Pryor, of course." He moved aside and revealed two men sitting behind him. "And the distinguished Professor Charles Xavier, and Edmund Lock, historian and failed scientist." He smiled down at Edmund, who sneered in his direction. Neither of the older men was restrained.

Wraith looked at me and I returned his puzzled glance. This was too strange. I felt a twinge deep in my gut and knew that whatever was happening, we were about to find out what secrets Warren had promised before. Edmund had raised his head and met my eyes. He looked saddened beyond measure. His shoulders stooped and he looked suddenly like the frail old man he was. Xavier's face was curiously blank. He observed the stranger in the suit with cool authority. He wasn't about to let defeat dent his pride.

"My name is Barrington. I once served my country as a general and I have since retired." He smiled, which was indicated by no more than the corners of his moustache lifting slightly. "I forgive both of you for not remembering me, but you see, I wanted it that way. It is good to see you both again, though."

"You killed Kwannon…" I said quietly. His eyes locked onto mine and he didn't respond. "You paid her to kill me and then you ordered her murder."

He held my glare for a few more moments, and then nodded. "She was employed for a specific purpose and she failed. She didn't know why the hit on you was ordered, but she didn't much care. When she failed, I decided she was a liability and a security threat."

"Did you know she'd fail?" I asked

He laughed heartily. "Of course I knew she'd fail! She was an extraordinary assassin, very skilled and professional, but she was no match for you. Your training bested her." The merriment went out of his eyes and he fixed me with a serious look. "But you were meant to kill her. When you showed her that small mercy, I knew that I would have to step in and fix the situation before she went to the authorities."

"And you made it look like I murdered her."

"That was a pleasant aside, yes. When her body was found, I knew your old buddy Maverick would come onto the scene, and I made sure Wraith would come into possession of the crime scene photos. In fact, your decision not to kill her had progressed my original plan quite nicely."

Wraith's body was shaking but I doubted it was because of the cold. "You worked on some project, an experiment we were subjected to."

Barrington smiled again. "So were the two fine men you see behind me, to varying degrees. Professor Xavier was just a boy when we started the project, but his father was one of its guiding lights. Edmund was a young lab assistant when he started on the project, but he rose through the ranks when he helped with some major breakthroughs." He took another few puffs of his cigar and chuckled. "Professor Xavier had started to dig through his daddy's past and we suspected he was close to discovering the truth of his work. When we learned of his contact with you, Logan, we knew that he had identified you as one of the test subjects."

I looked to Xavier who looked at me and nodded. "Yes, I knew."

"Why didn't you say anything to me?" I demanded, taking a step forward and being blocked by Warren's goons.

Xavier looked imploringly at me. "Would you have believed it?"

I opened my mouth and shook my head. Xavier had contacted me because he knew everything. He was playing some kind of sick game like the rest of them!

"Edmund…You knew all about this too?" I asked softly.

Edmund nodded glumly. "I'm not proud of my part in this, Logan. I was a boy when I worked on the project and I stayed alive by not divulging the secrets of the project! But when last we met, I decided that there were greater things than kept secrets. That's why I told you about the project. I had trusted you would piece the rest of it together by now…" His voice trailed away and he swallowed hard. "Regardless, I can offer no reasonable excuse for my actions, or my participation in the situation now, but I do apologise."

The depth of Edmund's apology was touching, as was Xavier's. My mind and body reeling, I turned away from both men and stared at Wraith disbelievingly. "I've changed my mind," I said. "I don't want to find the answers now."

Wraith patted me on the shoulder. "He's trying to psych you out, Logan," he whispered. "Don't let him do it."

I shrugged Wraith's hand off me, and spoke to Barrington in what I hoped was a calm voice. With every sound magnified in this hollow room, I felt certain he could hear the tremor in it. "Who is she in all this?" I pointed to Madelyn, who raised her head but did not speak.

Barrington's smile broadened. "Ah, the lovely Madelyn. She was a pawn as well, used to devastating effect, I must say."

"What?"

"I hate to break the news to you like this Logan, but the woman you remembered in Madripoor is not the woman you see sitting in the chair now. In fact, the woman in your dreams does not exist at all. She was a construct of my design, planted into your subconscious as you were going through several months of intensive hypnotherapy and brain surgery." He was warming to his subject now, clearly impressed with himself. "We were hoping to achieve a total control over each subject, one who has no higher function than to follow orders, but the human brain is a thing of many mysteries and wonder, so it isn't easy to break a man of his habits, erase his memories and personality traits, and reconstruct him whole.

"My research and testing had been the most advanced in the world at the time, and when I met with Brian Xavier and his team, who came to me with a proposition, I naturally jumped at the chance. When the long and arduous task of redeveloping these men began, I realized that it would not be possible to wipe the slate clean, as it were. There were too many factors, not the least of which was the cost of developing such a procedure and the time it would take. So we compromised and I decided to plant false memories into each subject so as to make them more malleable. The implants, surgery and hypnotherapy sessions all contributed to the first successful prototype for the Weapon X project."

I heard Wraith's voice behind me, raw and low. "Mastodon."

Barrington nodded. "Yes, top marks for you, Johnnie Wraith. Using those detective skills that have helped you and Logan over the past few weeks."

"Actually, Warren told me."

Barrington barked a laugh and nodded. "He does like to steal my thunder, boys."

"Why do you want us back now?" Wraith pressed on. "If the government abandoned the project then there is nothing to gain from this."

Barrington sighed and shook his head. "They had no idea about the project. At least, not directly. The President at the time was not privy to the details of Weapon X. One department would flow money to another, a sub department would then filter that money through other areas, and would eventually end up funding the project. The very nature of the project demanded that kind of secrecy. But the key players all walked away after we lost all but three of the original four test subjects."

"This is what I couldn't work out," I said. "How did you lose us?"

Barrington took his time answering. He looked at Xavier's pained expression and his brightened visibly. He was enjoying this. "We sent you on several successful top secret missions. Many were assassinations carried out under a veil of dense secrecy. One such mission was to have been carried out on Russian soil, roughly ten years after the project was completed. The mission objective was simple enough; all you had to do was blow up a facility that we had reason to believe housed the Ruski's attempt at a Weapon X. We called that mission Terry Adams But something happened during that mission, and three of you just walked away and seemingly vanished into thin air." Barrington fixed me with an amused look, his eyes twinkling. "Can you remember, Logan?"

Barrington took out a small silver device that was roughly the size of his palm and pressed a button. A low buzz emitted from the thing, which grew louder and louder until it was an ear piercing scream. Me and Wraith both started to back away, as the screeching became unbearable. I clutched my hands to my sears to cut out the sound but it was no good. Xavier and Edmund obviously could not hear it; they looked on with concerned expressions. I sank to the ground on one knee, gritting my teeth. My nose had begun to bleed and my head was swimming. I lurched forward as my vision began to turn grey, then I slipped into blissful oblivion.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**NINETEEN**

_"__Logan__, what the hell…?" Wraith gasped, as black spikes shot up from the ground, some spearing our limbs, lifting us off the ground and offering us up to the blood red sky. We were our old uniform, held our old weapons, and we were back in __Russia__. There was a low roar in the air, like a wounded animal, and when I craned my neck down I could see a whole forest of spikes beneath us. It was a long way to fall, but skewered as we were on the spikes, with surprisingly no pain._

_Down below, I could see the coast of __Madripoor__, crammed with crumbling high-rise buildings and its harbor crammed with boats of every description. Banners flew from the wharves and from the masts of the ships. Blood red and all bear good wishes .The sky was slate grey just as it was the day Jean disappeared from my life. _

_We were so close to the cliffs. I remember what happened that horrible day, when Jean fell. It wasn't my fault! I was trying to protect her…Didn't know how close we were to the edge…._

_"Remarkable what you can make the mind believe," __Barrington__ said from the ground. "Your rational mind is trying to tell you that this is not real, that the spikes are not digging into your flesh and that you are still on the floor in a warehouse somewhere in __Canada__. But one flick of a switch is all it takes to throw all that completely out the window." He chuckled and clicked his fingers. The spikes were shrinking, moving us closer to the ground. "You remember this place, __Logan__?" __Barrington__ said when I was at eye level with him. "You remember what happened here?"_

_"You know I do," I grunted. _

_"It was at this very spot that you stood between General Chang and the lovely miss Jean. General Chang had a gun leveled at her head, ready to shoot her and blame you for it."_

_The scene shifted behind __Barrington__ so I could see general Chang pointing his weapon directly at me. "Don't make me…" I said through gritted teeth. I couldn't watch this again._

_"Jean clutched to you for dear life. The wind was whipping her hair all over the place, and you stood resolutely between Chang and the woman you love." __Barrington__ smiled and clicked his fingers again. A massive boom, like a thunderclap, rattled everything. I could see the white hot flash from the nuzzle of the gun, I could see me diving in its direction, and I saw the bullet strike Jean in the temple, sending her back over the cliff._

_I shut my eyes against the tears. "This didn't happen," I whispered. "It was you all along."_

_"Well, some of it was my work," he said. "You did meet a young woman named Jean when you were sent on a mission to Madripoor. When it came time to bury that particular mission in your memory, I extrapolated on your fixation with the beautiful young woman, and created this reality for you. All it took was a few weeks of aggressive hypno therapy and some other more subtle techniques, but when I was finished you were absolutely positive that you had lost the love of your life in Madripoor. The truth of it was you were sent to Madripoor to kill General Chang."_

_The spikes receded altogether and I was standing before __Barrington__ now. "None of it was real?" I said, looking around me. "My whole life was some kind of sick stage production for you?"_

_Barrington__ barked a laugh and raised his arms. "This was my crowning achievement, my life's work," He replied proudly. "Nothing I would do later could possibly measure up."_

_"So you want to relive your glory days by getting the old team together? Is that it?" I looked around for Wraith but I couldn't see him anywhere. _

_"My goal was to reassemble the old team on behalf of a very interested party," He said. "Namely Warren Worthington, on behalf of __Worthington__ Industries.__ When he asked me to track you all down again, I was only too pleased to help."_

A heartbeat later I was standing in the Warehouse again, the landscape around us having dissolved like wet paint. Xavier looked anxious as I stood up on shaky legs. I wanted to walk over and punch him in the face for reasons I didn't really want to explore. I was breathing hard and sweating despite the cold.

Wraith was standing beside me, his arms wrapped around his waist, shaking like I was. His eyes looked hollow and his breathing sounded labored. Whatever Johnnie Wraith had seen during his unconscious episode had struck him as profoundly as mine.

"I've just shown you both a taste of my talent," Barrington said. "Be assured I can do much more."

"This is insane," Xavier said from behind him. "You can't possibly hope to re start the Weapon X program! These men have been searching for what you stripped away from them all those years ago, let them have it. There is no use for such a program today."

"In the future," Barrington replied, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Xavier. "Wars will be fought by men just like the two that stand before us now. They will be completely controllable killing machines. It was a lack of foresight from the government at the time, but I knew that they would one day need this program. That's why I had them stop my body from ageing further, the same process that was administered to Wraith and Logan. I had to see this through."

"I thought you looked to young to have been around when Edmund was a teenager," I said. "You gave them mindless killers and you took immortality. Nice swap."

Barrington shrugged. "I did what I had to do." He sighed and contemplated his cigar. 'I had such high hopes for this long awaited meeting, Logan, and so far you have been uninspiring, to say the least. Where is that animal I know lives deep within you?"

I shook my head. "You have the wrong guy, Barrington. I'm not the weapon you were trying to make me."

"Maybe not now," Barrington said. "But perhaps with the right push…"

He clapped his hands and a door opened on the other side of the room, directly behind Barrington. I could see a huge figure standing in the darkened doorway. "It's about friggin' time," the figure said in a voice like gravel. "I was freezing my ass off in there."

As the figure moved towards the light, Wraith started to shrink away. "Logan, this is going to be bad…"

The shadowy figure revealed himself in the full light. He was at least seven feet tall and packed with solid muscle. His arms were as thick as tree trunks and his fingers were long and tapered. His blonde hair fell over his shoulders. He had squinty little eyes that seemed to take everything in with a few sweeps of his head.

Time had done nothing to diminish the memory of Victor Creed.

"Heya, runt," Creed said with a lopsided grin in my direction. "You're looking good."

"Hey Vic," I said slowly. "Long time no see."

Creed turned to Barrington. "He don't remember me that well, 'cause if he did he'd be runnin'."

Wraith moved closer to me and never took his eyes off Creed. "Logan, this is a very bad situation…" he murmured.

"Johnnie Wraith!" Creed exclaimed. "Issat you? How long has it been, Wraith man?"

"Not long enough," Wraith responded, cool as cucumbers.

"Looks like we're havin' ourselves a reunion, boys. So where are the other two?"

"Mastodon is dead," Wraith said carefully. "And I dunno where Maverick is."

"You've always been a pathetic liar, Wraith," Creed said, his lip curling in Wraith's direction.

Creed lumbered into the room and stopped to look at Madelyn. "Who's this?" He asked Barrington.

"A guest who is to remain unmolested, Creed," Barrington responded.

Creed leaned in a little closer to Madelyn, ran a clawed finger down her cheek. Madelyn tried to pull away but her restraints stopped her. "She looks sweet as a pie," Creed whispered. "How's about we ditch these losers and you and me can get better acquainted?"

Madelyn shook her head and Creed grabbed her by the chin, forcing her face up to the light. "You look familiar…"

"Take your hands off her, Creed." The sound of my own voice even startled me.

Creed turned very slowly to look at me. "You sweet on this one, Logan?" He asked. "Is this your sweetheart?"

I took a step towards him and Creed cocked his head to the side, regarding me with growing amusement. "You and me got some unfinished business," Creed said. "Best I leave this for later."

He shoved Madelyn away from him and moved slowly in my direction, like he had all the time in the world. When he was about five feet away, I could see his muscles flexing, his whole body tensing; he was going to try something. I had no idea what to do and had only a few seconds to consider my options.

Creed lunged at me and cleared the five feet between us as quick as a cat. I bought me elbow up defensively and swung, striking Creed on the side of the head. He grunted as he hit the ground on his back, and I jumped on him, keeping my body away from his flailing limbs while I punched his midsection repeatedly until my knuckles stung. Creed was cursing and growling like a caged animal, baring his teeth and swinging those club-like arms at my head. I grabbed a fist full of Creed's hair and smashed his head back into the concrete. Wraith pinned both of Creed's arms under his knees while I continued driving his head into the floor. Any other man would be dead by now, but not Creed; Wraith was struggling to keep his arms pinned.

I felt my face growing hot and my vision seemed to sharpen. My muscles felt like they were on fire and it felt like the best feeling in the world, like a kind of ecstasy.

Creed had stopped moving. His chest was rising and falling in shallow breaths, and Wraith looked at me uncertainly. "Keep going," He whispered. "Let's finish this."

I shook my head, breathing hard, trying to regain my composure. I rolled off Creed's limp body and motioned for Wraith to do the same. "Leave it," I said.

Behind us, Barrington began clapping. He smiled broadly at us. "Gentlemen that was a treat."

"I'm not going to kill someone for you," I said, still trying to catch my breath.

"Logan, you are still making mistakes," Barrington said. "You made a mistake by not killing Kwannon. At least if you had killed her it would have been humane. When I realized she was going to cause me trouble I sent Creed after her. She died considerably less humanely at his hand." He sighed. "You misjudged that situation, let your misplaced sense of morality get the better of you. Your instincts have dulled with time."

Behind me, I could here the shuffling of feet. Barrington held his palms open and shrugged in a _what__ can I do?_ gesture. Behind me, I could hear labored breathing and a grunt. I spun around to see Creed standing again.

"Just playin' with ya, Logan," He grinned. "You should have made sure I was really out cold."

He gave no warning this time, swiped the side of my face in one clean swing of his arm. His claws dug into my jaw and ripped through my flesh. I backed away, fearing he would leap into the air again, but he simply shot his arms out and grabbed me by the throat in a vice like grip. "You're a frail, boy," He said as he squeezed by throat, cause me to gag. I could feel my whole body tingle and my fingers were going numb. "You was always the one who would pull back just when things were startin' to get interesting. You always ruined my _fun_…"

Wraith had crossed the floor by this point and he was hitting Creed with something hard, like a pipe. I could hear the sound of the metal striking Creed's flesh, but he was still standing.

"C'mon Logan, I know you have it in you!" Wraith said. "Just give in to the rage for once in your goddamned life!"

_Give in to the rage_. There was no way I could…I couldn't…Not after how long I've tried!

I looked into Creed's soulless black eyes and felt something inside me well up, take me over. I looked into those hateful eyes and I felt nothing but loathing. I reached up and tried to pull Creed's fingers off, but he had a grip like a vice. I reached up and tried to swipe at him, trying to breath but no air rushing into my lungs. My fingers splayed out and my body straining, I was still about six inches away from Creed's face. I noticed then that his face was healed from the thrashing Wraith and I had administered. My whole focus no was trying to reach for Creed's face, to hit him, to knock him down. I needed to breathe. I felt panic rolling inside me, mixed with rage…

My whole body afire, I kept straining with my fingers, reaching out….

And then, the skin of my hand broke open and three sharpened steel claws extended from my hand between the knuckles. Pain shot up my arm and jarred my shoulder and I shut my eyes tight against the fiery agony in my hand. I noticed Creed's grip lessen and I opened my eyes to see one of the claws pop cleanly into his right eye. He was too shocked to move at first, and then he dropped me and crumpled to the floor himself, writhing around the floor, howling like an animal caught in a trap. I looked down at my bleeding hand, then looked frantically at Barrington. I sank to my knees and cradled my arm, staring at the shiny claws that jutted from my hand.

"Logan!" I could hear Xavier's voice but it sounded so far away. Then: "What the hell have you done to him?"


End file.
